Committed
by Falfaly
Summary: For Han Solo, nothing has been right since Bespin. Plagued by nightmares, exhaustion and his inability to resume an intimate relationship with Leia. Follows on from Waking Up. [Warnings: l, s, mental health issues]
1. Chapter 1

_**Committed**_

_**by CorellianBlue**_

_(first published 2003, revised 2016, 2020)_

_Warnings: language; sexual content; mental health issues_

**I**

Fingers quivered over the butt of his blaster, stretching, anticipating the moment of draw.

Focus set on the target remote hovering across the other side of the hold from him.

Breathing slow and shallow as he went through the sequence of the drill in his mind; visualising the movement of muscles and tendons to raise the weapon from the holster, level, aim, the gentle twitch of finger to squeeze the trigger…

Han Solo had performed this practice sequence a million times before: here in the main hold of the _Millennium Falcon_, and in countless different holo-ranges. He had successfully outdrawn more sentient lifeforms than he cared to think about. Only one opponent had ever beaten him, and even then it had taken a professional gunslinger to achieve this. Han still bore scars from that close call.

Despite his impressive record, a doubt had crept into the faith he held in his own abilities.

_I can do this I can do this I can do this—_

Without warning, the target remote shot diagonally towards him on a burst of repulsor power. Solo ducked and rolled to the side, the blaster instinctively in his hand before he hit the deck. Levelling the DL-44 at his hip, he aimed and squeezed the trigger.

He yelped as the remote's tracer beam caught him on the lower leg. His own shot sailed across the top of the globe, impacting harmlessly on the bulkhead safety cushions. Before the remote could fire again, he slapped the droid caller on his belt and deactivated the device. The orb powered down and dropped to the deck with a clang.

Recovering from the drill, Han sucked in his breath, resting his back and shoulders against chill and hardness of the deckplates as punishment for his failure. Failure not once, but ten times in as many minutes.

An overwhelming self-disgust washed away his initial rush of adrenaline. He closed his eyes, wiped the sweat from his brow with the edge of his hand. Nothing had been right since returning to the Alliance fleet after his rescue from Tatooine.

_Not since Bespin. It's all been fucked since Bespin._

He didn't want to think about it, but he knew why his speed-draw was failing: carbonite. Just another _fucked up_ effect of having been frozen in carbonite for nearly one Standard year. As if the nightmares, insomnia and other problems weren't enough.

_One more damn thing…_

Han raised his head, let it fall unchecked to the deck—

…_one more damn thing…_

—raised it again, allowed it to fall—

…_one more damn thing…_

—beating the back of his head against the deckplates until it ached.

It took a concerted effort for him to roll over and push himself off the deck, cursing the numbing after-effects of the tracer beam. His hip throbbed, and he winced as he prodded the bruise, cringing further when he thought about how Leia would react to this new injury.

She had been coddling him since he'd been discharged from the medical center: ensuring he weaned himself back onto solid food and kept himself hydrated; worrying over his inability to sleep soundly for longer than an hour at a time. When she saw the contusion on his hip, she would become even more unbearable.

_That's not fair, _Han thought with an annoyed shake of his head, and then vaguely wondered why the back of his skull felt tender, unable to immediately recall hitting his head on anything. _If anyone's unbearable, it's been me._

He had become increasingly snappy and short-tempered over the last few days. He had originally pegged his mood being a result of the sedatives that had been pumped into him for over sixty hours. Hibernation sickness had plagued him throughout the journey back to the Rebel fleet, his body racked by spasms as it had purged itself of the carbonite while he wallowed in and out of delirium. Once onboard the Calamari cruiser, the examining doctor had ordered him to rest and recuperate. The only way to convince Han about the efficacy of this direction was to sedate him before he'd had a chance to argue. After being sedated for sixty hours, it had taken another nine hours for him to wake up.

Things had steadily gone downhill for him from there.

The washed-out feeling he'd had upon awakening had not dissipated, and it appeared to have taken up permanent residence in his chest and legs. He persistently felt one step short of exhaustion; at times, almost breathless with fatigue.

There had been nightmares—trapped in carbonite; tortured on the scan grid; watching Leia's face as he was lowered into the carbon freezing chamber and not knowing her fate. As a result, he had been disinclined to sleep, which made him more tired and irritable.

Then there had been the problems caused by the urinary catheter he'd had inserted during his sedation. For over a day he'd been unable to pass urine without the burning agony causing him to grimace and whimper. The anti-inflammatory gel had eventually helped calm things down. But it had also misled him into getting his hopes up on another front.

On their second night back together, Han had attempted to make love with Leia. He blanched at the memory—an attempt was all it was. Despite their mutual desire and eagerness, the one part of his anatomy crucial to the manoeuvre had remained under sedation. There had been two nights since then and two more attempts, and still he and Leia were yet to pick up their relationship from the point they had left it on Bespin.

Han could tell it was starting to frustrate Leia. Hell, he was already beyond the frustrated stage and rushing head long towards panicked.

What if things never returned to the way they had been? He couldn't bear to cast a stray thought towards that outcome. The idea that he might never experience that level of intimacy again with Leia was more horrifying than anything his nightmares could come up with.

The long, slow flight to Bespin had the best thing to have ever happened to him in his life. Away from the Alliance and the Empire, Leia had revealed how she really felt about him: she loved him. Han had quickly come to the realisation that he loved her in return. With nothing else to do and 38 days to do it in, they had spent their time exploring this new stage of their relationship and exploring each other.

Their days cooped up on the _Millennium Falcon_ had turned into love and laughter. Han had rediscovered a part of himself he had long forgotten. It may have been mushy to think it, but Leia completed him, and not just in sexual way. He loved that woman more, than anything.

Han was returning his blaster to its holster when he realised his hand was trembling. He drew his weapon closer and watched the tendons twitch in the back of his hand. He raised his arm, held it out as though aiming, sighting down the barrel of the blaster. From this perspective, the slight quake of his hand became a noticeable shake; no wonder his aim was off.

The heavy blaster pistol flew from his hand as he flung it across the hold. The DL-44 bounced against the bulkhead, triggering a burst of tracer fire, before the weapon smashed to the deck, firing twice more as it clattered against the plates. Han kicked the target remote out of his way and stormed down the ring corridor towards his cabin.

By the time he had stripped himself naked and was standing in the refresher stall, he was breathless with rage. He tilted his head up, mouth open as the cold stream of water gushed over him. The white-hot fury consumed him, searing him inside and out.

It started out as a growl, an expression of his anger and frustration, quickly gathered strength and momentum, reverberating in the confines of the refresher until it became a full-throated howl. Han stood there and screamed.

He had no idea how long he'd had been in the refresher, screaming out his lungs, when Chewbacca reached into the stall and pulled him out of the shower. His eyes wide and feral, Han lashed out instinctively, struggling to get away from the Wookiee's hold. Chewbacca swiped a paw against the side of the Corellian's head. It was only Chewbacca's grip on his friend's arm that stopped Han from crashing into the bulkhead.

The blow seemed to work. The scream died abruptly in Solo's throat and sanity returned to his eyes.

Still holding onto Solo's biceps, Chewbacca reached behind him into the refresher stall, turned off the flow of water and activated the drying cycle. He roughly pushed the Corellian back into the stall.

[Dry off,] Chewbacca ordered. [Get dressed. Then we'll talk.]

Eyes averted, Han nodded awkwardly as he stood in the buffeting currents of warm air, only raising his head after he heard the Wookiee close the hatch to his cabin.

_What the fuck is happening to me?_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Committed**_

_**by CorellianBlue**_

_(first published 2003, revised 2016, 2020)_

_Warnings: language; sexual content; mental health issues_

**II**

Chewbacca rubbed at the crick in his neck as he circled the perimeter of the _Falcon's_ main hold, trying to convince himself that he shouldn't be worried.

Solo's recent behaviour wasn't normal by human standards, but Chewbacca had never counted Han as a normal human being. If the Corellian had been normal then the young Imperial mudtrooper and disgraced Academy cadet, Corporal Solo, would not have helped a Wookiee slave to escape captivity.

Chewbacca understood how Solo had been shaped by a series of traumatic events throughout his life. Although he wasn't certain what had happened to Han's mother, he knew that she had been instrumental in introducing Han to Shryiiwook when he was quite young. Han had never expanded upon where his mother was, if, indeed, she was still alive.

But he did know that Han's father had worked at the Corellian Engineering Corporation on the YT-1300 line until he'd been laid off. Han appeared to have had a complicated, difficult relationship with his father. Chewbacca gathered that either Han had run off or his father had abandoned him. Either way, Han had existed on the dangerous and unforgiving streets of Coronet City as a scrumrat for nearly 10 years, as much a slave to a crime syndicate as Chewbacca had been to the Empire.

As a result, the Corellian had a hostile attitude towards authority figures and a distorted ability to trust or rely upon anyone except Chewbacca and himself. Solo's life as a smuggler had seen him swing from an obsession with self-preservation, to an at times suicidal disregard for his own mortality.

Throughout the time that they had been friends, Chewbacca had never seen his Honour Brother look as lost and dispossessed as he had over the last few days. The Wookiee could _smell_ the depression emanating from the Corellian. Solo had been anxious and irritable, and the incident in the 'fresher suggested he could be losing touch with reality. Chewbacca suspected that Han's uncharacteristic behaviour was a result of the torture of the carbonite and the Cloud City scan grid. There was no other explanation.

With a frustrated sigh, Chewbacca gave up massaging the muscles in his neck and shoulders. He could never properly reach those muscles, always relying on Han to ease his discomfort and fix the popped vertebrae in his neck. Then he noticed the Corellian's DL-44 blaster pistol lying on the deck, and across the hold the dented shape of the target remote. It was abruptly apparent to Chewbacca what had happened here, the spark that had ignited Solo's fuse.

Chewbacca collected the blaster from the deck, thumbing on the safety as he checked it for signs of damage. Perhaps an extra scratch here, a nick there, but it was a solid, reliable weapon—like its owner—and Chewbacca doubted there was anything wrong with it. He wished the same could be said for Han.

Muttering to himself, Chewbacca placed the blaster on the dejarik table and disposed of the target remote in a toolbox. There were other matters to which Chewbacca should have been attending. He had offered his services, free of charge, to the Rebellion's maintenance squadrons. The _Home One_, along with half of the Rebel fleet, had recently arrived on the edge of Sullustan space. Alliance forces were convening here before pressing on to Endor to deliver one final blow to the Empire before it could bring the second Death Star on-line. There were fighters that needed to be repaired, shuttles to be prepped and the cruiser's own cannons required re-calibration.

This battle would be decisive—there was no doubt about that. The outcome would decide the fate of the galaxy. And yet despite his offer of assistance, Chewbacca felt his friend and Honour Brother deserved his time and support, even if in a few days' time neither of them might be around to worry about a future.

Hoping that a drink may help ease the inevitable tension, Chewbacca grabbed a bottle of Corellian whiskey, along with two glassine tumblers, and sat and waited at the holo-game table for his friend to arrive.

Twenty or so minutes passed. The Wookiee was contemplating going in search of Solo when the Corellian walked quietly into the hold, favouring one hip slightly. He wore his old dark blue trousers with the red Bloodstripe, and a jacket the princess had given him to replace the one lost on Bespin. The gun-rig hung on his hips, the empty holster yearning for its lost weapon.

Incongruously, Solo's hair was neatly brushed, nearly parted straight, and it shone under the light from the _Falcon's_ glow panels. His eyes were the only indicator that something was not quite right. There was a wildness in his gaze as he focused on the arrangement of Wookiee, whiskey and blaster. He moved across to the chair at the tech station, keeping some distance between himself and his friend, and was just about to take a seat when human and Wookiee eyes met.

Han accepted the unspoken challenge. He walked back towards the game table, stopped at the edge and reached for his blaster. Chewbacca's hand clamped down over Solo's as the Corellian picked up the weapon. Chewbacca's grip momentarily restrained Solo, then he pulled his hand and blaster free.

[Sit,] Chewbacca softly urged.

Solo remained standing while he replaced the practice charge with the combat charge from the case on his belt. Chewbacca filled the two tumblers, pushed one towards the Corellian and sat back in the lounge.

He waited until Solo had holstered the blaster and gingerly seated himself at the game table, before speaking again. [What was that all about?]

"What was 'what' all about?"

The Wookiee pulled a face and lightly whacked a hand across the back of Han's head. [Wrong answer.]

Solo's face became ugly as he rounded on Chewbacca, his body stiffening with indignation. Then the anger suddenly leached from him and he propped his elbows on the table, pressed his face into his open palms.

"I don't know what's going on anymore," Han mumbled, his voice hoarse from screaming. "Nothing makes sense. Especially not me."

[You're still recovering,] Chewbacca observed. He watched cautiously as the Corellian's fingers shook as Solo reached for the tumbler. [Still tired. When was the last time you got some sleep?]

Han gulped at the gold-coloured liquid, muttered bitterly, "Bespin."

[Feeling sorry for yourself, Little Brother?]

Solo looked sharply at his friend, before his expression sobered. "Am I going crazy, Chewie?"

Chewbacca reached out, fondly ruffled Han's hair and joked, [Didn't you tell the doctor that you've always been a little insane?]

Han pulled away from the affectionate gesture and returned to his drink. Chewbacca sighed and took a sip from his own tumbler.

[I don't think you're crazy,] Chewbacca eventually told him. [But I think you need help.]

"_Help_?" The sarcasm was thick in Solo's voice. He winced and rubbed at his temple. "No one's poking around in my mind."

[I don't mean a counsellor,] Chewbacca explained, thinking _I doubt you could sit still long enough for one._

"I don't do drugs," Solo growled emphatically, "you know that."

Chewbacca knew that during Solo's time on the streets and as a smuggler, he'd seen enough lives destroyed and brains turned to mush that he now had an almost paranoid distrust of narcotics and stimulants. It seemed almost incongruous then, that the main source of his smuggling income had been running spice, perhaps one of the most potent stimulants in the galaxy. But incongruity was Han Solo's middle name.

Chewbacca raised a placating palm. He had been tempted to suggest that Solo get his hands on andris, a spice known for its anti-depressant qualities that was frequently used in psychopharmacology. However, seeing Han's violent reaction to even a hint of this proposal, he changed tack.

[Find something to do with yourself, Han.] _Keep your mind occupied, _was what Chewbacca had wanted to add.

Solo stared into his glass as he swirled the remains of the drink. "I've got something to do. I gotta ship to maintain, unlike someone else around here."

Chewbacca ignored the blatant attack at his own absence from the _Falcon_. Part of the reason why the Wookiee could offer his services to the Rebellion was because the YT-1300 freighter did not require further repairs.

[The _Falcon_ is fully operational. You _know_ that. Anything else you're doing here is tinkering around the edges.]

Solo looked at the Wookiee sourly. "I gotta know she won't give out on me like she did last time."

An awkward silence settled over them. 'Last time' the hyperdrive failed dismally, not once but twice, which meant that the bounty hunter and eventually the Empire had been able to track them to Bespin. At Bespin, the nightmare had really begun for Han: torture on the scan grid at the hands of Vader, and then the torture of the carbonite.

The wounds were still fresh for Han, so Chewbacca was prepared to leave his questioning. Until it hit him as solidly as he had struck his friend across the head in the 'fresher: Han was planning on piloting the _Falcon_ in the upcoming battle against the Death Star.

Chewbacca studied his friend earnestly: the red-rimmed eyes; the pallor of his skin; the hand that noticeably shook.

[You're going to fly the _Falcon_, aren't you,] Chewbacca stated. [Against the Death Star.]

The Corellian's eyes narrowed. "Why not? I flew her against the other one. Can't see the difference."

[You!] the Wookiee bellowed. [You're the difference! Look at you! You can barely hold that glass steady let alone a control yoke.]

Solo slammed the tumbler down against the surface of the table, the whiskey spilling over the lip. "You don't have to fly with me if you don't wanna," he snarled. "I'll get someone else. Even Lando will do."

Chewbacca re-vectored his argument. [What about the princess?]

Solo glared at the Wookiee. "What _about_ the princess?"

[She won't want you flying. She's probably expecting you to stay with her here on the command ship.]

Solo grimaced and rubbed at his head again. "_She'll_ understand. I thought you would too."

Chewbacca took a sip at his drink as he regarded Solo critically, his instincts rebelling against what his brain was preparing to say. Releasing a sigh, he set down his glass. [I'll be your co-pilot, Han. I have a Life Debt—]

"No!" Han's voice cracked as he rose from the seat. "Don't drag _that_ up again. You fly with me cos you _want_ to, not because you _have_ to." He backed out away from the game table. "Fuck your Life Debt!"

Chewbacca's lip curled back in an unvoiced snarl as he kept his emotions under tight control. He watched Solo clutch a hand to his temple as the Corellian stalked over to the tech station, slumped into the seat and flicked on a diagnostic scanner.

The Wookiee stared at the back of Solo's head. Han wasn't in the mood for talking, that much was painfully obvious. And being the stubborn, nerf-headed human that he was, Chewbacca knew the best thing would be to leave Han alone.

Chewbacca glanced at the remains of his drink, downed it in one mouthful and quietly rose from his seat. The Corellian's attention was absorbed in his work, but the line of his shoulders suggested he was steeling himself against another verbal assault. Chewbacca left the hold without another word and clumped down the boarding ramp.

-o- 

As the Wookiee's footsteps faded away, Solo released the breath he had been holding and tried to concentrate on the operational parameters for the hyperdrive motivator, ignoring the fact he had already checked them five times that day.

He was finding it difficult to ignore the lethargy that sucked and pulled at his energy levels. He hadn't even had the strength to continue the argument with Chewbacca, which was why he'd headed for the safety of the tech station.

His headache was arching its way towards migraine status, dulling the ache in his bruised hip by comparison. He was seriously considering seeking out the medkit to find some relief. Perhaps if he rested his eyes for a while, took a quick nap, that would also put paid to the ache and his dark mood.

Solo dragged his fingers through his hair, massaging the tightness in his scalp, before returning his gaze returned to the diagnostic screen. There was too much do. Too many checks to run. He had to be organised. Had to be prepared. He'd already lost once before. He wasn't about to lose again.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Committed**_

_**by CorellianBlue**_

_(first published 2003, revised 2016, 2020)_

_Warnings: language; sexual content; mental health issues_

**III**

The shrill beep of the comlink woke him. His brain found consciousness before his eyes opened, and for one terrifying moment he couldn't remember where he was.

His mind screamed at the thought that he was still trapped inside the carbonite. Limbs jerked in panic, striking the control panel in front of him. His eyes snapped open. A cry of terror strangled in his tight throat, but it was loud enough to bring him to his senses. He was sitting in the cockpit of the _Falcon_, in the pilot's seat. Safe.

The comlink trilled again. Heart thumping in his chest, Han swiped a hand into his pocket and drew the comlink to his mouth without checking the ID display to see who was calling.

"S-So-Solo."

"Hi, it's me."

His nerves settled as soon as he heard Leia's voice and he relaxed back in his seat, his eyes closing again as he composed himself.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Han shook his head, annoyed. Leia had heard the stammer and high pitch of his voice.

"I'm fine," he lied, opening his eyes again and busily scanning the control panel as if she could see what he was doing. "Just sorting out a few things. How 'bout you?"

Leia paused for a moment before responding. "I've only got an hour left before I finish." She was silent again, leaving a gap in the conversation, inviting him to contribute. When he failed to say anything, she added, "Would you like to—"

"I'll come up and see you," he quickly offered, knowing he had missed the opportunity to propose the idea unaided. "Are you in Ops?"

"That's right. Level 23. Take the turbolift by the—"

"I know, I remember," he groused, irritated that she felt the need to remind him. There was no response from Leia, and he swore at himself for snapping at her like that. "Sorry. Sorry."

Leia waited a beat before replying. "That's all right."

_It's not all right, _he told himself. _She's put up with enough from me without wearing abuse as well._

"I'll be there before you finish," he promised.

Han sat there for a while after he had signed off, staring through the cockpit's viewport, wondering why he couldn't get his shit together, why he couldn't shake off the suffocating mood he'd been in lately.

At least the bruise on his hip only hurt when he prodded it. According to his wrist chrono, he'd slept soundly for four or five hours—nightmare-free—which had also seen off the headache. The pilot's seat was comfortable, and he'd slept upright in it many times in the past. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, not with all the work he had been intending to do.

His focus switched and he took in the swarm of activity outside the ship in the hangar bay. Maintenance crews, technicians and droids scurried around, prepping and servicing a variety of starfighters. To the untrained eye, it may have appeared haphazard, but Han knew the Rebels were skilled in maintaining their craft under the pressures of war. Nearly as skilled as Chewbacca and himself.

Han winced as he recalled the words he had yelled at Chewbacca: _Fuck your Life Debt._ He'd never said anything as spiteful as that to his friend, but then he'd been saying a lot of things lately that he regretted. _Add another one to the list._ It was almost as if his brain and his mouth were disconnected.

Leia was the only stable element in his life. Her love for him was the only thing not affected by the carbonite; if anything, her love for him had grown stronger and deeper.

Han was grateful, so grateful, that Leia was there for him; solid and indomitable as always. Grateful that she loved him so very much, despite the inexcusable way he had been treating her lately. And, despite the outcome, he was also grateful that the flight to Bespin had granted Leia and himself the time to explore exactly what it was they felt for each other.

The hint of a smile touched Han's lips: the flight to Bespin.

For him, it had all happened only a few days ago, not ten months. Han leaned further back into the pilot's seat and gazed around the cockpit. There were good memories in here. Very good, _recent_ memories that he and Leia had created, all on that fateful trip.

They had spent incredible, pleasurable hours alone in the cockpit. At first, it had been a retreat, a private place they could be together, away from Chewbacca and Threepio, where they could sit and talk quietly. But it had not taken long before they had become more intimate.

Leia had initiated this uninhibited stage of their relationship. She had been sitting across his lap, lying back in his arms as they had kissed and fondled each other. She had made him lock the pilot's seat back so she could more comfortably straddle his hips, increasing her participation in their foreplay. Fully clothed, she had pressed herself up against him as she kissed him, teasing both him and her by rubbing against his trousers and the outline of his erection. And then she began opening and removing items of her clothing. First her shirt—his shirt, because she had taken to wearing his clothes as she'd had none of her own with her—slowly undoing the fasteners to reveal her bare breasts, holding one then the other to his mouth so that he could suckle at her nipples. She had been wearing his boxer briefs as shorts and had easily removed them without having to leave his lap, slipping them off and pooling at one of her ankles.

Han recalled being overwhelmed by this incredible, beautiful woman who smiled brazenly at him as she'd adjusted her position on his thighs. Although naked, she had been the one in control—of the situation, her desire and him.

She had caressed him mercilessly through the fabric of his trousers, squeezing and gripping him as she kissed him, slipping her tongue in and out of his mouth as a promise of things of to come. Finally, she had released his erection from his clothing and slid down on top of him. The exquisite pleasure of being enveloped within her had nearly made him declare then and there that he loved her.

After that, they had used the cockpit as an alternative to his bunk. They had made love in all the different crew positions, except for Chewbacca's co-pilot seat. Chewie had been sniping and complaining enough about the amount of time the couple had spent together—the noise, the smell, the mess—without Han rubbing the Wookiee's nose, so to speak, in things by screwing in the co-pilot's seat.

They had even used the cockpit hatch—ensuring it was fully sealed, firmly locked—when Leia had speculated how difficult it would be to _fuck_ (she had used that word) in a standing position. Han had taken her conjecture as a personal challenge.

There had been no grace and quite a bit of manoeuvring the first time they had tried it, but they persisted and practised and became rather adept. Leia was wonderfully light and surprisingly flexible; it was easy to pull her legs up around his waist, slid inside her while she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on tight as he thrust in and out of her. They had eventually moved their practice of this position into the 'fresher.

Just when Leia's eagerness for love making and how easily she became aroused surprised him about as much as Han had thought possible, she had surprised him further.

The pilot's seat had become their preference. Leia had been straddling his hips: the position from which she obtained the most pleasure. Naked, she had undone the front of his trousers and was firmly holding him in her hand when she had slipped from his thighs, crouched down in front of him and taken him in her mouth. Although she had blown him before in their bunk, this was a first outside the privacy of their cabin.

Han shivered at the memory, trembled and felt an ache in his groin. He concentrated on the memories, the resulting sensations. Trying not to rush the moment, he flexed, felt himself twitch and harden.

He swung out of his seat, almost ran from the cockpit.

This was it! _This_ would be _it_!

All he had needed was time and rest. Now he could show Leia how much he loved her. He would make it all up to her.

He came to a sliding halt at the top of the boarding ramp as a thought tripped through his lust-filled mind. Perhaps he should try things out before he went to Leia like this.

_Bring it out for a test flight?_

Chewing on his bottom lip, he glanced down the corridor in the direction of his cabin. He was not averse to the idea. He had spent many times in his cabin, alone with just lurid fantasies of Leia and a tube of personal lubricant. But now the thought of jerking off before making love to Leia felt as if he would be cheating—on her and himself.

Han adjusted himself and loosened his belt a notch, hoping to make things more comfortable and to hide the extent of his arousal. There was nearly a swagger in his step as he made his way to the Operations Center. He almost felt more like his old self.

By the time Han made it up to the twenty-third level, he realised that the work-shift had changed over a good three hours ago, and yet Leia was still there.

She worked long hours, but he wasn't sure what position she now held within the Alliance. She had told him she reported directly to General Rieekan, not in the high-profile command and diplomatic position she had held previously on Hoth.

She now also wore the rank of major instead of colonel. She had been demoted two levels. Her decision to take a leave of absence from the Alliance in order to rescue him from Jabba the Hutt had seen her judgement and leadership ability questioned.

Leia being Leia, she had not complained about her duties. For the princess, this was just the way things were; if she wanted to contribute to the Alliance, this was the job that High Command now expected her to do.

Han felt responsible for this position he had placed her in. She had sacrificed her standing within an organisation that she lived and breathed for, simply because she loved a worn out Corellian smuggler.

He loved her even more for it.

The Operations Center on the Calamari cruiser was large by human standards, well-appointed with holo-tanks and screens, rows of diagnostic and tactical workstations, communications suites and an expansive array of scenario simulators. It was humming with activity, and Han had to wind his way through a crowd of tacticians, analysts and other ops staff. He was painfully aware of the curious looks he received as he headed towards Rieekan's office.

He found Leia sitting at her workstation, attention rivetted on the display screen in front of her. She had arranged her hair into plaits and had pulled them up against the back of her head away from her neck, resulting in a tantalising glimpse of soft, white skin between the top of her collar and the beginning of her hairline, a glimpse that grew as she stretched her neck forward and briefly massaged the vertebrae.

The invitation was irresistible. Han placed his hands on her shoulders, felt her tense slightly at the unexpected contact, then relax as she quickly recognised his touch.

Leia remained facing the screen and murmured, "Hi."

Han leaned down and pressed a kiss against the bare skin of her neck, felt her shiver against his lips and felt his own body react to her response. She moved to face him, but her cheek brushed against his lips and he kissed her again.

"Missed you," he huskily told her, his breath whispering in her ear. "Did you miss me?"

Leia reached for the hand on her shoulder and teasingly replied in a melodramatic voice, "Desperately."

"Good."

She chuckled and turned her seat towards him, as he squatted down next to her, bringing his eyes level with hers. She smiled at the glimmer in the depths of his hazel eyes, the excited, half-grin that lit his face.

"What is it?" she asked softly.

Han raised his eyebrows, pressed his lips together and took her hand. "Mmm…nothing."

His half-grin returned, and she caressed his cheek with the backs of her fingers.

Encouraging this unexpected playful mood, Leia gently insisted, "Go on, tell me."

His other hand slipped onto her knee and he squeezed it. "Why don't I show you."

Leia matched his grin and they held each other's gaze, enjoying the intensity shimmering between them.

"Excuse me, Princess." General Rieekan's voice brought Han and Leia crashing back to reality.

-o-

From his position in the hatchway to his office, General Carlist Rieekan considered the curious couple that was the princess and the smuggler. This was the third time he'd seen them together since Solo's rescue, and each time the personal distance between them indicated they were much more than friends and far from the antagonists they had been on Hoth.

From this angle, Rieekan could clearly see Solo's face, and had watched as the princess had lovingly caressed his cheek. Their relationship did not overly concern the Alderaanian general. Rieekan was protective towards the daughter of his friend and Alderaanian viceroy, Bail Organa, but he had always genuinely liked Solo, even if the smuggler had originally aligned himself with the Rebellion for purely mercenary reasons.

Rieekan had suspected the spark between the princess and the Corellian had its foundations in a basic sexual attraction, rather than the antagonism that they espoused. The frostiness characterising Han and Leia's relationship after their mission to Ord Mantell had further cemented Rieekan's belief.

When Leia had taken a leave of absence to rescue Solo, questions had been raised about the princess' commitment to the Alliance and her judgement. At the time, High Command had believed Leia had left because she was following Commander Skywalker, that she was enamoured with the young Jedi and allowing her emotional attachment to Luke to dictate her actions. When Leia had returned to the Alliance, she had consequently been relegated to a lesser role as Rieekan's administrative assistant; Rieekan had effectively ignored this slight and elevated Leia to his chief of staff.

But it appeared the Rebel Alliance rumour mill was more aware of what was happening than High Command. Gossip was spreading quickly, almost matching the animated discussions about the upcoming battle. When she was not on duty, Princess Leia was constantly in Solo's company, and they had been frequently seen holding hands or walking arm-in-arm and exchanging the odd chaste kiss. It also appeared Solo had taken up residence in the princess' cabin.

Rieekan didn't want to imagine what role High Command would assign to the princess once they discovered that she and the smuggler were lovers.

Now, as Rieekan had disturbed them, he had noticed the guilty looks they had traded as they hastily masked their emotions, hid their annoyance at being interrupted, and rose to face him.

Within moments, Leia was composed and professional. "Yes, General?"

Rieekan tamed his smile. "May I have a word with you?" The princess glanced at Solo, and the general added, "Both of you, if you wouldn't mind."

Rieekan caught the instinctive fire that flared in the Corellian's eyes, but also noticed the quick squeeze Leia gave to Solo's hand and the staying—if not calming—influence it had over him. The defiance rapidly cooled in Solo's gaze.

The couple took a seat in the simple chairs in Rieekan's undecorated office. Leaving the hatch open, Rieekan took a moment to settle himself behind the cluttered desk, then allowed that moment to drag on into a heavy silence that soon had Solo shifting uncomfortably in his seat. The princess, on the other hand, handled the situation with her usual diplomatic poise.

When it became apparent the general was deliberately stalling, Leia asked, "How may we help you, General?"

'_We'._ Rieekan noted Leia's willingness to be accepted as one half of a couple.

Not quite prepared to ease up on them, the general began, "There's something I need to discuss with you."

Solo noticeably bristled and cleared his throat as if to speak. Rieekan decided to cease his mischievousness.

"As you're probably aware, Calrissian has offered his support to the Alliance and has formally requested a commission into Rebellion forces."

Solo made a sour face at the same time Leia nodded and said, "I think he'll make a good contribution to the Alliance."

Oblivious to where they were, Solo rounded on her. "You don't even _know_ Lando."

The princess slowly turned her attention from the general towards Solo, and Rieekan watched with some amusement as she carefully composed her facial expression. Solo must have recognised his mistake and quickly averted his eyes when Leia told him, "Yes, I do."

Rieekan felt obliged to help set Solo straight on exactly what had happened during the time the Corellian had been absent from the fleet.

"I have a reasonable familiarity with Calrissian myself," Rieekan explained. "Not to the extent that you have, Solo, but I like to believe I'm a reasonable judge of character. Calrissian may be a smooth operator. A polished, professional con-artist,"—Leia smirked at this assessment—"but beneath all that glitz and glamour, that white, bright smile, he's got a good heart."

Solo grunted derisively but did not contradict the general's statement.

"You believe otherwise?" Rieekan asked.

The Corellian grimaced in concession. "You've known the man for a year. Lando's still gotta lot of history behind him you may not like."

Rieekan raised an inquiring eyebrow. "The same could be said for you. I don't hear anyone questioning your support to the Alliance."

"Well, I ain't been around much lately, have I?" Solo's face hardened and his voice dropped to a dangerous monotone. "The Bantha shit from High Command will start raining down on me soon enough."

The princess lay a hand against her lover's arm and soothingly said his name, "Han…"

The Alderaanian general leaned across his desk. "No one should be judged solely on their past. It's what they do now, their deeds and actions, that matter most." He glanced at the princess, then back at the smuggler. "Otherwise I'd be seriously questioning _your_ intentions towards Leia."

The couple exchanged apprehensive glances but said nothing.

Rieekan pretended not to notice. "I believe Calrissian is reliable and trustworthy enough to be offered a commission. Force knows we need the help." He sat back in his chair, templed his fingers under his chin. "Solo, I'm interested in your opinion on what position and rank would best reflect Calrissian's skills and experience."

"Why my opinion?" the younger man asked warily.

Rieekan's response was honest. "I respect your capabilities and acknowledge your substantial experience as a pilot. I recognise the military training you've had, and the successful operations you've been on during your time with the Alliance. And, strangely enough, I even _like_ you." He added with a grin, "Most of the time."

The Corellian gave a small shrug. "If it was my decision, I'd make Lando an able crewman and give him sentry duty in front of the heads."

Leia called his name again, this time in gentle rebuke. "Han."

Rieekan smiled appreciatively. The princess was in for an interesting future if she thought she had a serious chance of altering Solo's behaviour.

"Calrissian seems to be a reasonable pilot," the general remarked.

"'_Reasonable'_ is about right," Solo agreed.

"But I'd like to understand is his tactical ability and his capacity for thinking on his feet."

Solo's gaze flickered up to the bulkhead behind Rieekan and he chewed on the inside of his mouth. The princess watched him intently; he met her inquiring eyes when he realised she was staring at him. Something in the way she looked at him gave him encouragement. He sighed deeply, lifted his chin and leaned towards Rieekan.

"You've heard about Taanab?"

Rieekan frowned, his curiosity piqued, leaned forward in interest. "The Norulack pirate raid?"

Solo scrunched his nose. "Yeah."

"_The_ Battle of Taanab?" It held almost legendary status in spacer circles.

Solo's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "There's been another one while I was outta action?"

Rieekan nodded at him to continue. "Go on. You've got me intrigued."

"Me too," Leia agreed.

The incident at Taanab had occurred about three years before the Battle of Yavin. Taanab was an agrarian world that had remained relatively under-developed technology-wise to maintain an idyllic farming lifestyle for its populace.

The peace and tranquility were seasonally shattered by bands of Norulack pirates. Taanab's farmers, fisher-folk, biologists and botanists lacked the necessary skill and ability to ward off these attacks. Unfortunately for Taanab, the rest of the galaxy was unconcerned with what happened to this insignificant mid-Rim world.

The legendary Battle of Taanab had brought the raids to a halt—until the Empire assumed control and imposed martial law, channelling Taanab's abundant natural resources towards feeding and clothing its soldiers.

Solo's voice took on a serious tone. "You know, pirates had been raiding Taanab for centuries. The locals were pissed by visits from these uninvited guests, so got their hands on the remains of a squadron of Z-95 Headhunters. Problem was these moronic dirt-lovers didn't have a brain-cell between them when it came to spacer skills."

Han shook his head slowly in disgust, a grimace turning his mouth. "I guess the Z's remained undercover in a hangar somewhere, butted up next to the manure and the birdseed. Fat lotta good that did. Pirate raids continued.

"Fortunately for the good citizens of Taanab, Calrissian was on-planet,"—he rolled his eyes elaborately—"I guarantee for some dubious reason, when one of the pirate raids took place. The Lacks shot up Lando's ship real bad."

Han's gaze softened in mock-sympathy and his voice raised with derision. "Poor guy, it was straight off the production line, too." He gave a tight smile. "Naturally, he was pretty pissed about it. Probably more than the Taanab."

Han glanced down, picked at a loose thread on his trousers, smoothed the fabric over his knee.

"If you ask Lando, I guarantee he'll tell you he took on the pirates because of the damage they did to his ship."

His eyes narrowed in disbelief as he looked back at Rieekan. "I reckon it was because he had a soft spot for those defenseless morons. I also heard someone bet Lando he didn't have a hope in hell of winning against the Lacks. What else was he gonna do? Man can't resist a bet."

Solo sat back into the chair. "Lando had 'em pull the Z's outta storage, brushed out the bird nests, fuelled 'em up. Worked out that what the yokels lacked in flying ability, they made up for in grit and sheer bloody-mindedness. Seems they just needed someone who had a vague idea what he was doing. They needed direction, and a leader to follow."

Rieekan made a slight scoffing noise in his throat. "I understand it was a bit more than that," he suggested. "Superior tactics and amazing manoeuvres played a huge part."

Solo raised a shoulder in compromise. "That, and a lot of luck. The Lack pirates may be as thick as rocks, but they know how to fly." He pressed his lips together. "Lando did all right."

General Rieekan returned his fingers to the place under the arc of his jaw, his gaze momentarily lost in thought as he weighed up Calrissian's capabilities and experience; Solo's begrudging opinion; his own personal knowledge of Lando; and Wedge Antilles' assessment of his piloting abilities. Solo's advice had helped make his decision easier.

Rieekan returned his consideration to the Corellian. "Thank you for your candour and insight, Han. It helps place things in context."

Solo nodded once in acknowledgment. "No problem."

At his side, Leia spoke up. "May I add that Lando has already proven himself to be a friend and ally of the Alliance. And a good friend to me as well." Her eyes met Han's. "I can personally vouch for his reliability and loyalty." Her smile was small but reassuring.

Solo nodded again, this time in begrudging agreement with her appraisal.

"One more thing," Rieekan added, and Solo's attention returned to the general. "How do you think Calrissian would fair leading the attack against the Death Star?"

Rieekan noticed Solo's cheek twitch, but the Corellian only replied, "If he has the right ship, he'll do all right."

"Excuse me, General."

A young lieutenant had appeared at the open hatchway, and Rieekan gestured towards her, indicating that she should continue.

"Sir, we're ready to conduct the briefing for you."

"Thank you, Chyra." The Alderaanian general turned back to the couple in front of his desk. "Princess, Solo, if you'll excuse me."

The three of them rose together and moved out of the office. Rieekan headed towards the briefing room with Lieutenant Chyra in tow, and Solo heard him tell her, "Contact Calrissian and invite him to the briefing."

-o-

A chill prickled the hair on the back of Han's neck.

For the first time, he acknowledged that he had been waiting for the Alliance to offer him command of the attack against the Death Star. That was why he had been prepping the _Falcon_ so thoroughly; if he was going to lead the Rebel forces, both he and his ship had to be ready.

The _Falcon_ was ready, but he wasn't too sure about himself. And when he seriously thought about it, the Alliance would never offer _him_—a non-aligned mercenary—such a vital military position.

Han was aware that Leia was looking at him with concern. He wondered if she sensed he had wanted the lead position for himself. She knew the way his mind worked better than he did. He did not want to meet her eyes.

"I just need to collect my things," Leia said as they returned to her workstation. "You haven't eaten, have you?"

"No."

Tramping down on the pathetic disappointment he felt, Han summoned every joule of energy he had and tried to focus on what he been thinking about in the cockpit, desperate to resurrect his desire. He called up a memory of cupping Leia's face in his hands as she had knelt between his legs, her head bent over him, her hot, wet mouth working its magic.

A frisson of electricity lit him up inside.

"I got meals to take back to my cabin." Leia indicated the insulated packs that sat on her desk. "Are you happy to go back to my cabin? Or did you want to eat at the mess?"

The half-grin slowly returned as he collected the meal packs under his arm. "Your cabin's great. Wonderful. Looking forward to it."

Leia took his free hand, interlaced her fingers with his. "What did you want to show me?"

"Oh, that?"

Han tugged her closer, pressed his leg against hers so she could feel the onset of his arousal that nestling above her hip. Leia's eyebrows rose in comprehension and her mouth curved into a smile. His eyes shone with mischief and hunger.

"What do you think about me showing you some of those _intentions_ I have towards you that Rieekan should've asked me about?"

Leia could only nod and eagerly agree, "Okay."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Committed**_

_**by CorellianBlue**_

_(first published 2003, revised 2016, 2020)_

_Warnings: language; sexual content; mental health issues_

**IV**

As soon as the hatch to the Leia's cabin closed, there was a frenzied, breathless assault on fasteners, clasps, belt buckles and anything else that stood in the way of undressing each other.

Dinner forgotten, Solo dumped the meals packs on the floor and began pulling the shirt over his head, while Leia could not resist the urge to run her fingers through the hair on his chest at the same time. There was a rent of fabric as Han struggled to free his arms from the shirt, before he moved onto pushing Leia's shirt from her shoulders. Mouths feasted on skin as it was stripped bare, moist nips that were more bite than kiss.

Leia lifted her arms so Han could remove her crop-top bra, and it was still halfway over her head when she felt him clutch her breast and suckle on it. Feeding on his intensity, Leia untangled her arms and buried her fingers in his hair, encouraging him and relishing the undeniable desire coursing through her body.

She pulled his head up slightly, found his ear with her lips and nibbled on the lobe. Han moaned against her breast. Keeping up the desperate momentum, Leia helped him push the trousers from his hips and firmly caressed him through the fabric of his boxer briefs before divesting him of them as well.

There was barely enough opportunity to appreciate the sight of the other naked before they shepherded each other to the bunk. Leia pulled the covers aside and fell backward onto the sheets, pulling him by the hand so that he toppled over the top of her. His lips captured hers, his tongue exploring her mouth as he settled himself against her, taking most of his weight on his hands and knees. Leia widened her legs to accommodate his body, almost pleading as she felt the hardness of his erection slip against her thigh. He lifted himself up to enter her and she leaned forward to bite at his raised nipple.

Han gasped, a strangled moan in the back of his throat, and a grimace contorted his features as his body briefly jerked. Leia felt a dampness spurt against the inside of her leg but didn't comprehend what had happened until she heard him cry out in self-disgust.

Han pushed himself up and away from her. Kneeling between her legs, he stared down at the result of his botched attempt to make love to her. He shook his head slowly in disbelief. His breath sucked inwards as he wildly smashed his left fist into the adjacent bulkhead, then collapsed onto the bed beside her, face pressed into the pillow. His whimper of frustration and despair surged into a rage of swearing and Wookiee-like roars that were scarcely muffled by the pillow.

Leia stiffened. Alarmed by what she was witnessing, she allowed him to burn unchecked, hoping his fury would quickly extinguish itself.

After twenty seconds, and with his rage continuing, Leia gently placed her hands on his shoulders and told him, "Han, stop it. You're scaring me."

Her command and composure suggested she was calm, but inside she was terrified. She could understand his frustration, but she had never seen him this out of control.

Her voice penetrated the darkness engulfing him. Han swallowed the feral snarls and swearing and lay there with his face buried in the pillow, shoulders heaving with repressed anger.

"'m sorrysorrysorrysorry," he told her, the words blending and running together.

"It's all right," Leia soothed, kneading the tight muscles in his shoulders.

Her touch was not soothing as she hoped because he pulled away from her and pushed himself off the bed. Eyes averted, he headed towards the refresher.

"Better clean up," he murmured. "Get you a cloth."

"I'm fine," she told him. "I'll have a 'fresher when you've finished."

She watched the back of his shoulders heave as he nodded. He moved into the 'fresher and closed the door on her. His action hit her more deeply than it should have. He had not closed the door to the 'fresher since they had started sleeping together.

Leia sat there on her own, her heart aching for the man she loved. Han was slowly falling apart, their abysmal record in bed just the beginning.

The rest of the night cycle, the mood between them was tight and strained. They ate in relative silence, Han poking and prodding at his food as he evaded her attempts to start a conversation.

Deep, blue-black bruising had appeared across his knuckles from where he had struck the bulkhead, but he seemed unaware of it and unconcerned. When Leia asked him about the bruise on his hip, he shrugged and told her he had slipped while working on the _Falcon_. The quickness of his reply made her suspect it was rehearsed and that there was more to the injury than a simple fall; she left it at that.

After they had eaten and cleaned their teeth, Leia attempted to return to their usual routine by snuggling up next to him on the bed. Han placed a hesitant arm around her shoulders as she pressed herself against the length of his body and tensed as her fingers teased through his chest hairs.

"Did you want to try again?" she asked.

His response was resigned, apathetic. "If you want."

Leia slipped her leg across his waist and straddled him. He opened his mouth to say something, but she placed a finger across his lips.

"Shhh," she told him. "Just lie back and relax."

She started at his shoulders, running her hands across his body in a sensuous caress, paying attention to his erogenous points: his nipples; the shallow indentation where hip met buttock; his upper thigh; and the stretch of skin at the bottom of his stomach. When her touch failed to excite him, she replaced her hands with her mouth, licking, biting and sucking her way around his body.

Eventually, he pulled her head up. "It's okay," he explained. His expression was apologetic and anguished. "It's nothing you're doing. It's me."

There was not much more she could do. She suggested they try to get some sleep. After she turned off the light, there was a moment of palpable tension as they lay under the covers, trying not to touch one another. Then Leia reached for his hand, and he did not pull away, instead rolling on his side toward her. He rested his head against her shoulder, and Leia pressed a kiss to his forehead, cradling his body with her own.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

She simply replied, "I love you."

-o-

A soft, rhythmic thumping woke Leia from a light sleep. She took a moment to orient herself, then discovered the source of the noise. Han was sitting up in bed, his upper torso bare as he sat with his back pressed up against the bulkhead. In the dim light, she could see his eyes were closed, but she sensed he was awake.

With each breath he took, his head beat back against the bulkhead.

Leia touched his side, felt him flinch when she accidentally brushed against his bruised hip, but the dull thud of his skull continued. He only stopped when she called his name.

"Han."

His eyes remained closed. She saw the wince of alarm cross his face.

"Han."

"Go back to sleep, Leia."

His thigh muscles tightened beneath her touch. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Go back to sleep."

Leia sat up and activated the lights, causing them both to cringe at the sudden glare. She dimmed the luminance to a tolerable level and squarely faced him.

"Don't tell me nothing's wrong."

His eyes were wide and overly alert, and if she hadn't known him better, she'd have thought he was on an amphetamine high.

"I'm fine," he lied. "Just can't sleep."

"And why can't you sleep?" she wanted to know, suddenly prepared to have this out with him.

He shook his head indifferently. "I don't know. Maybe cos I had a nap today and I don't need any more."

Leia regarded him suspiciously. She knew how bad his insomnia had been; the nightmares he had when he did manage to sleep; how upset he had been over their failure to make love; and she also suspected he was disappointed that the Alliance hadn't offered him the lead position in the upcoming battle. All of these were factors that could affect his ability to sleep.

"How long did you sleep for?"

"Four, five hours."

Maybe he was right. If he was telling the truth, four or five hours would have been the most stretch of sleep he'd had since he'd been discharged from the medical center. But it didn't account for his irritability or the way he had been bashing his head against the bulkhead.

She took his hand and looked at him earnestly. "I want to suggest something to you, and I don't want you to over-react." He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth in protest, but she stopped him mid-flight. "Please. Hear me out." She touched his cheek and tempered her voice. "I'm worried about you."

"You don't have to be," he told her dismissively.

"Yes, I have to be because I love you." His hand twitched and quivered involuntarily in hers. She had seen the slight shake before, but this was the first time she had seriously felt it. She wondered how it would affect his ability to fly in battle. "You've got a few problems that obviously aren't going away and may not for some time. I've heard that andris can sometimes help—"

"No!" He dropped her hand as if scalded. "I'm a smuggler, Leia. I run spice. I don't _do_ it."

She sat back from him, shocked at the way he had so quickly rejected her suggestion. That, and the fact he _still_ considered himself a smuggler, after everything they had been through.

"Answer me this, then. Are you planning on flying the _Falcon_ in the battle?"

His gaze dropped to his hands. "Thinkin' about it. Why?"

"Could I be selfish for once and ask you to stay with me?"

His eyes narrowed, but he refused to look at her. "Chewie thinks I'm not up to it. You think that as well?"

After all that had happened tonight, Leia was uncertain how could she tell him what she really thought.

"I'm sure you're more than capable of flying anything against an Imperial battle station," she replied. "Han Solo operating at only 50 percent capacity is still worth more than two normal, mortal pilots."

He looked up at her, his glassy eyes intense. "I feel one hundred percent" he insisted. "Almost as good as new."

She held his gaze, silently telling him that although she knew the truth, she would not contradict his assertion.

"Han, I haven't had you with me for nearly a year. We both know what could happen in the next battle. I'd like to be selfish and have you here with me."

He grabbed her hand. "Come with me on the _Falcon_."

She shook her head slowly. "You know I can't."

"You mean they won't let you."

Leia dismissed his accusation with a shake of her head. They both knew the truth. She had been unable to convince High Command that rescuing a smuggler was a worthwhile cause. Accompanying that same smuggler, her lover, into battle—risking the life of the remaining heir to the Royal House of Alderaan—would an unacceptable folly.

"I'll do more good here," she insisted. "They need me to liaise between High Command and the various military elements. Rieekan needs me."

The troubled look on his face nearly broke her heart. Leia leaned towards him, pressed her forehead against his. "Please stay."

His head tilted downwards. "You know I love you, Leia," he whispered.

"Han." She placed kisses down the length of his nose, across his cheeks and up to his eyes, his lids closing under the caress of her lips. "Stay. Please."

A sigh cracked from deep within his chest. Eventually he nodded, and Leia wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I'll stay," he promised.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Committed**_

_**by CorellianBlue**_

_(first published 2003, revised 2016, 2020)_

_Warnings: language; sexual content; mental health issues_

**V**

As he walked up the ramp of the _Millennium Falcon_, Lando Calrissian's tread was careful and measured. He didn't know what to expect. Since returning to the Rebel fleet, he had infrequently seen Solo and each time he had he suspected the Corellian had become more unstable.

Calrissian swallowed at that thought. Despite his best efforts, Lando couldn't ignore the guilt that continued to haunt him—he was responsible for what had happened to Solo on Bespin and the current state of his mental health. What Han thought about the situation was difficult to fathom, but Lando had never seriously been able to work out what Solo ever really thought or believed.

The Alliance had offered him a commission into its forces with the rank of commander and had placed him in command of the fighter attack against the Death Star. But Calrissian couldn't fathom why, despite his own good fortune, these feelings of regret and remorse could not be erased or forgotten.

_Commander…Commander Calrissian…Commander Lando Calrissian._

He still couldn't believe he had been commissioned as a _commander_. Him—Lando Calrissian—without any previous military training. _Commander Calrissian._ It had a nice ring to it.

As far as Lando knew, they hadn't even offered that level of rank to Solo, and Han had once been one of the best and brightest in the Imperial flight academy. Granted, with his extensive criminal past, Solo probably wasn't the type of officer the Alliance wanted. But then again, the Alliance was hardly able to be choosy, which was a factor, Calrissian acknowledged with uncharacteristic humility, that had helped to ensure his own commissioning.

Calrissian reached the top of the ramp, stopped and patted the freighter's hull in a fond gesture: The _Millennium Falcon_, his old ship.

He held many cherished memories of his short time at the helm of the YT-1300. Solo and Chewbacca may have improved the freighter with their 'special modifications', but she had always been a fast ship, despite her current external appearance.

That was why Calrissian was here now. He was an Alliance commander, in charge of the fighter attack against the Death Star. He needed a fast ship. A ship he could rely on and one that befitted his new status. One he was familiar with, knew its strengths and idiosyncrasies. A ship he could trust with his one-and-only precious hide.

Unfortunately, the one ship that met these criteria belonged to Han Solo.

Calrissian wasn't quite sure how he would ask Solo if he could 'borrow' the _Falcon_ for the attack. Rieekan had offered him one of the latest B-Wings, but Calrissian had assured the Alderaanian general that he had his eye on another ship. A fast ship. All he needed was the owner's permission to fly her.

Apparently aware of which ship and whose owner Lando had been talking about, Rieekan had huffed in wry amusement, "Good luck with that."

Lando was very aware that he would need to draw on all his legendary charisma in order to talk Solo into giving up the _Falcon_ for the duration of the battle.

Although the _Falcon_ had once been his ship, Calrissian didn't feel comfortable entering her uninvited. She was Han's girl now; had been for over 13 years.

Walking on the balls of his feet, Calrissian adroitly entered the ship, his steps delicate, almost reverential, as if he was intruding into a temple or sanctuary. He moved down the corridor into the main hold and came to an abrupt, wordless halt.

Solo stood on the opposite side of the hold, his back toward Calrissian as he stared at the bulkhead. Calrissian watched for a moment before realising that Solo must have been concentrating intensely for him not to notice that he had a visitor; as quiet as Calrissian had been, Solo was renowned for being attuned to every noise, squeak and beep on the _Falcon_.

Solo's arm suddenly exploded into action: the blaster appeared in his hand as he withdrew it from the holster, aimed it at the bulkhead, returned it to the holster. His fingers flexed over the butt of the blaster, then the drill began again.

Fascinated with the scene in front of him, Calrissian remained silent and continued watching. Solo had a deserved reputation for his speed-draw, but this was the first time Calrissian had seen him practice. Initially impressed with what he witnessed, Calrissian noticed errors as the drill proceeded. Solo's hand fumbled on the butt of the blaster; the muzzle caught on the holster when he tried to level it too early; the explosive movement of arm and shoulder grew tired and jerky.

Guilt solidified in Calrissian's stomach. This wasn't the same Han Solo who had intuitively and flawlessly drawn and fired at Darth Vader. The man he was now surreptitiously watching was not the same man who had sought refuge on Cloud City. As it didn't feel right to spy on Solo, Calrissian cleared his throat.

In that heartbeat, the blaster leapt into Solo's hand and he spun on the toe of his boot. Calrissian's palms sprang up in an instinctive, defensive posture as the weapon's muzzle was aimed at him from the end of Solo's outstretched arm.

"Whoa there!" Lando called.

Solo's eyes were wide, glassy and uncomprehending. The blaster was aimed at him resolutely, and Lando watched with mounting alarm as Solo's finger tightened on the trigger.

"Hey, take it easy," Calrissian cautioned. "Stop joking around."

The Corellian's face was impassive, but his eyes blazed with a rage Lando had witnessed on only a few occasions.

"Okay! Okay!" Calrissian's voice raised a few octaves. "Now you're scaring the shit outta me!"

Despite the noticeable tremor in Solo's outstretched arm, Lando didn't believe the blaster's aim would be that far off if Solo pulled the trigger. He didn't want to push his gambler's luck by chancing it. A blaster bolt at such short range could cause serious damage, no matter where it hit.

There was no recognition in the Corellian's wild gaze, and the whites of his eyes glowed against the grey pallor of his skin. It suddenly occurred to Calrissian that Solo may not recognise who he was.

"Han? Han, it's me! Lando!" His throat went tight and dry. This would _not_ look very impressive on his brand new service record—Commander Calrissian: Killed _before_ making it into battle. "Han!"

Solo's face twitched, his eyes blinked slowly, an almost wincing action, and something warmed in their depths. His head pulled back as if suddenly seeing the situation for the first time. Solo swallowed deeply, his larynx bobbing with the effort. The weapon dropped to his side.

Solo's eyes colour-shifted to a frosty green. "What do you want?" he gruffly asked.

Trying to compose himself, maintain a sense of dignity and keep his anger in check, Calrissian lowered his hands and moved into the hold. He automatically raised his hands again when Solo raised the blaster. Both men arrested their actions, the Corellian sneering as he settled his DL-44 back into its holster while Lando straightened up again.

Solo repeated, "What do you want?"

Maintaining his vigilance, Calrissian slipped back into his smooth parlance. "I was passing by. Thought I'd drop in to see how you are."

Solo's response was automatic. "You've seen me. I'm fine. What else do you want?"

_Yeah. I can see how 'fine' you are, _Calrissian thought despondently. He wondered if Leia or Chewie were aware how far Solo's condition had deteriorated. Perhaps it was just as well Solo wasn't officially part of the Rebellion. He could be a liability.

The Corellian swung around, hunted in a toolbox for a moment. "Look, I'm busy." He retrieved a hydrospanner and moved towards Calrissian. The gesture was not menacing, but Lando couldn't repress a flinch. "Got things to do."

Calrissian took a few steps backward. Best to stay out of arm's reach. "Won't hold you up. Just wanted to let you know that I've joined the Rebel forces, in case you heard it through the rumour net."

Solo nodded knowingly. "Didn't realise you had an allegiance to anyone apart from yourself."

Calrissian glared in reply. "That's a bit low."

Solo raised a questioning eyebrow and Lando had to admit the judgement was not that far from the truth, or it had been once.

"Okay," Calrissian conceded, "perhaps you could've labelled me with that in the past. But not now. Not since…" His words petered out as he realised what he had been going to say, and not certain whether he had the right to say it, or how Solo would react to the claim.

Solo finished the sentence for him, the cynicism filling his voice with crisp chill. "Bespin?" His knuckles whitened as they tightened around the hydrospanner. "I don't want your fucking sympathy, Calrissian."

The silence between the men was cold and hard. This wasn't just Solo harbouring a grudge. This was worrying. Lando quickly shelved any idea he had about asking Solo to give up the _Falcon_.

"What rank have they given you?" Solo suddenly asked, hefting the tool in his hand as if evaluating how solid it was and what damage it might do if it is struck a man's skull.

Calrissian didn't immediately respond. The pride he had in his newfound military status had rapidly deflated. How could he be so conceited when his friend was so totally messed up, especially when that mess was partly due to his own actions? And then Calrissian wondered about how Solo would react to the news that he'd been commissioned as a commander.

"Rieekan hasn't told me yet," Lando responded evasively.

"Imagine you'll find out soon enough," Solo suggested. "Leia tells me the final briefing sessions start tomorrow."

Lando frowned. _Leia told you…?_ "Aren't you flying in the battle?"

"No." Solo's eyes flashed a warning, daring Calrissian to make a comment.

Lando held his tongue as his mind turned over all the possible reasons why Solo wasn't flying.

Maybe the Alliance hadn't bothered to include him.

Perhaps they had asked Solo, but because they wouldn't compensate him, he had refused. Or maybe Solo couldn't give a flying frig about the Alliance.

What if the doctors had grounded him? Or had Leia asked him not to fly? Maybe Solo had grounded himself?

Whatever the explanation, Calrissian chose not to ask. He didn't feel like arguing with the business end of a blaster again.

Lando glanced over his shoulder, half-turned as if to leave. He now felt slightly foolish for even coming up with the idea of asking for the _Falcon_. It was more than obvious that Han didn't want him here.

"Look, ah… I've got to go."

"Gotta pick up that new uniform, huh?"

Lando stopped in his tracks; that was exactly where he was headed. "I'll let you get back to your—"

"Yeah, sure."

Solo's abrupt response checked his departure, and Lando realised this could be the last time he saw the Corellian until after the battle. Perhaps the last time he _ever_ saw him.

"If I don't get the chance," Lando began, aware of the way Solo's eyes narrowed as he spoke, "to catch up with you again before it all starts. I just want you to know—"

"Yeah, good luck. Force stuff and all that."

Lando stared at his friend, startled at the vaguely sombre words that had come from the mouth of the usually cynical smuggler. The gaze that met his own was most definitely sane, serious, even contained a touch of humour; an echo of his former self.

"You too, Han." He discarded the idea of extending his hand towards Solo, and instead offered him some advice. "Take care of Leia. And look after yourself too."

Solo seemed to accept the gesture in the spirit it was given. "I'll see you on the other side."

Calrissian nodded once and considered saying something more, when an uncomfortable grimace crossed Solo's face and he brushed past Lando and headed towards the cockpit.

Calrissian watched Solo disappear down the corridor, then he turned and moved back to the boarding ramp, praying to himself, _I certainly hope so, Han._

-o-

Han lowered himself into his pilot's seat, rested the hydrospanner on the control panel, and dropped his head into his hands. His jaw clenched; body shuddered. He had nearly opened fire on Lando. And he had no idea why.

The incident replayed in his mind, as vibrant as if it was happening in front of him again. He'd been absorbed in the speed-draw drill, he had recognised Lando as soon as he had spun around, and yet he had still aimed the blaster at him. In that moment, Calrissian had morphed into all the adversaries who had ever threatened him. Simultaneously, he had also known it was only Lando he was targeting.

Han swallowed down the vomit that surged up his throat.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

He had come so close to pulling the trigger…

He smashed his left fist smashed wildly against the bulkhead by his side, anger swamping his self-disgust. Pain dragged him back to his senses and to what now passed as normality for him; it was the same bruised hand he'd smashed against the bulkhead in Lea's cabin.

Rubbing his aching knuckles, he winced and paused to look out at the busy hangar. The distance between himself and the organised teams of Rebels out there seemed overwhelmingly vast.

Maybe that was what he needed to do. He had seriously been considering it as an option since returning to the fleet. The idea of taking that final step and enlisting into the Rebel forces had been enough to make him stop and wonder if he really wanted to do it, or if it was a reaction to having been rescued by friends who were themselves Rebels. For a loner used to relying upon only himself and Chewbacca, that final step had been insurmountable.

The Rebels were a good bunch of people. Tenacious and resourceful, they stood for and believed in everything the Empire abhorred, defiled and destroyed. Why shouldn't he enlist? He'd effectively joined them nearly four years ago after he'd flown back into the middle of the Battle of Yavin.

With Calrissian enlisting, the equation was undeniable. Besides, what difference would it make? He could enter this battle as a card-carrying Rebel and contribute to the result, or he could hide on board the cruiser in the same guise he had started his association with the Alliance—as a selfish, self-preserving mercenary. One way or the other, within a matter of days it could all be over for him.

And then, most importantly, there was the princess. _Leia._ She had been trying to recruit him since Yavin, since the first Death Star. Han had resisted the whole way, mainly because she used to become so passionate about his failure to commit. That was before they had become lovers.

Since his rescue, Leia had been painfully silent on the matter. Apart from curtailing his plans to fly in the battle, Leia hadn't even asked him what his intentions were towards the Alliance.

Han wasn't certain what that meant, if anything. Was she giving him time and space to decide what he wanted to do? Was she hesitant to ask him in case he told her something she didn't want to hear? Or did she simply _expect_ that he would follow her, wherever she went?

Bizarrely, Han _was_ prepared to follow her. To be there for her. To ignore the instincts that screamed at him to haul jets and get the hell out.

Run away.

If he joined the Rebellion, willingly and voluntarily, it would be a physical display of his commitment to her and all she believed in.

_Commitment._

There was a concept that used to scare the shit out of him. Now though, it was a different matter. Leia had revealed her devotion and loyalty to him by sacrificing her status within the Alliance. Deep in his heart, he was already firmly committed to her. Why not take that final step and commit to all that she believed in?

Solo looked down at his fist. His hand had stopped shaking. And he knew what he needed to do


	6. Chapter 6

_**Committed**_

_**by CorellianBlue**_

_(first published 2003, revised 2016, 2020)_

_Warnings: language; sexual content; mental health issues_

**VI**

Rieekan indicated the chair in front of his desk and Solo took a seat. The general hitched himself up on the corner of the desk and regarded the smuggler curiously. This was most definitely unexpected.

Solo had appeared in the Command Center unannounced, had not stopped to talk to the princess, and had then requested to speak with the Alderaanian general. Noting the urgency and solemnity in Solo's eyes, Rieekan had conceded, despite his own pressing deadlines.

"What's on your mind, Solo?"

The smuggler spoke without a moment's hesitation. "That stuff you said before, about appreciating my capabilities and experience…" When Rieekan failed to comment, Solo seemed to lose momentum. "I was—uh—I was...I—I was wondering if I might be able to give you a hand."

Rieekan's face was impassive. "We've always appreciated your services in the past. But I doubt we could afford to pay the type of fee you'd be after for this one."

Solo slipped into his old negotiating parlance. "Try me."

Rieekan folded his arms across his chest, sighed and nodded to himself. This _is_ what he had expected. "No fee this time, Solo. In fact, we've asked all the independents to officially join the Alliance or leave."

"No one's asked me," the smuggler said.

The general tilted his head quizzically. "Not even the princess?"

Solo returned the general's steady gaze. "Not even her."

"Perhaps she knew what your answer would be."

"And what if I agreed to enlist?"

Rieekan unfolded his arms but remained silent, compelling the smuggler to continue.

"I wanna join the Rebellion," Solo said. He swallowed and added, "In an official capacity."

Rieekan's fingers tapped against the edge of the desk. "You don't have to do this, son. We all know what you've been through. No one will think less of you if you remain on board the Command—"

"I'm _not_ hiding," the Corellian darkly insisted. He tempered his tone when Rieekan raised an eyebrow. "I can contribute as much as anyone."

Rieekan pressed his lips together. He'd been waiting to hear these sentiments from Solo for the last four years, and just when he'd heard them, he wasn't entirely convinced the Corellian was up to the task. He had no proof that Solo wasn't fit to serve; it was more a supposition based on what he imagined Solo had endured while imprisoned in carbonite.

"I appreciate your offer," Rieekan began, "but—"

Solo sneered, "Thanks, but no thanks, right?"

"No, that's _not_ right." Rieekan smirked at Solo's frown. "I won't patronise you, Solo. I won't even try to guess at what you've experienced or how you may have been affected." Solo averted his gaze. "But I do need to know that I can rely on you when things get tough."

The Corellian's eyes returned to the general. "You can."

"I want the okay from the medcenter before taking you on," Rieekan explained. "I need that assurance, if only to appease Leia that I didn't talk you into this."

"She'll understand," Solo told him.

"I hope she does," Rieekan agreed.

"Any idea about where you might assign me?" Solo asked

Rieekan's smile was wry. This might be the opportunity he was looking for. Crix Madine, one of Solo's compatriots, was slated to lead the special forces operation against the shield generator located on the Endor moon. But the Rebellion also needed qualified flag officers with battle experience capable of commanding cruisers and frigates. If he could replace Madine with Solo, that would be one less ship's captain position he needed to worry about.

Solo had already proven himself capable of undertaking guerrilla operations in the past, albeit for payment. Rieekan would also not be surprised if he ended up with additional operatives for this mission once the princess and the Wookiee found out that Solo was in command. Granted, he may have trouble convincing High Command to allow Leia to go, but if that was what she wanted, he would back her desire. _Three for the 'price' of one!_

"First you get the okay from Medical," Rieekan told him, "then we'll talk. But don't worry, I'll place you in a position that will fully utilise your talents and ensure you don't wreak too much havoc. At least not on the Alliance, anyway."

Rieekan slid from the desk as Solo rose to his feet, extended his arm and shook the smuggler's hand.

"Welcome aboard, son." Solo's mouth twisted with embarrassment. "I'm looking forward to hearing some good news from the medcenter."

"I'm on my way."

As they moved towards the opening hatchway, Rieekan placed a friendly hand on Solo's shoulder. "Tell the duty doctor that I'll take a verbal report over the line."

"Yes, sir."

Rieekan paused for a moment, then openly chuckled. "It means a lot hearing you call me that, Han." He clasped Solo's hand again and met the younger man's eyes. "It's good to have you on our side."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Committed**_

_**by CorellianBlue**_

_(first published 2003, revised 2016, 2020)_

_Warnings: language; sexual content; mental health issues_

**VII**

General Crix Madine was livid, and he didn't care who knew it, especially the smuggler who was trailing behind him.

Madine's pale face was ruddy, flushed with self-righteous anger, fists clenched at his sides. Rieekan had betrayed him, and Madine suspected it was because the Alderaanian still had issues with his Imperial origins.

When planning had begun for the offensive against the Empire's second Death Star, it was Crix Madine who had designed the operations to disable the generator that provided the battle station's protective energy shield. With an extensive background in the Empire's elite Special Forces, Madine was the most experienced covert operative in the Rebellion. There had been no question that the blond Corellian general would command the task force strike against the shield generator.

Madine had personally and individually selected and trained the members of his task force. He had orchestrated the capture of the shuttle that would be used to infiltrate Imperial defences and land the team on the forest moon. The Supreme Commander of the Alliance, Mon Mothma, had personally congratulated him on his ingenuity and comprehensive preparations. And then Rieekan—that puffed up, pompous Alderaanian—had stripped him of the role and glory and handed it to Solo. As if things weren't ludicrous enough, Rieekan had also field-commissioned Solo as a _general_!

Madine suspected Rieekan had only assigned that rank to Solo to provide him with a level of sorely needed respectability. Madine was aware of Rieekan's deep affection for Princess Leia Organa. As the princess was now defiling herself with the smuggler, Rieekan obviously felt obliged to prop up Solo to a status that was more worthy of her. Madine seriously doubted there was anything that could be done to redeem Solo.

Whatever the reason, Madine didn't have to like it or agree with it. He had never believed in field promotions; a smuggler now wearing general's pips only vindicated this conviction. He knew Solo had once been an Imperial pilot, but he had been drummed out of the Academy as a cadet and demoted to the pitiful rank of corporal before deserting.

Commissioning Solo into Alliance forces was a laugh. Commissioning him as a general was an absolute joke. Unfortunately, the joke had landed squarely on Madine's shoulders when Rieekan had replaced one Corellian general with the other.

Rieekan had done his homework. The logical explanation for the change was that Madine had previous experience commanding a frigate and as they were desperately short of battle-hardened ship's captains, it would be preferable to give Madine the command of a ship. Solo had previously proven he was capable of leading low-level, ground-based ops—_Thanks to his criminal background,_ Madine surmised—it made sense that Solo would take over from Madine.

Madine still didn't like it.

General Madine had broken the news to the members of his team, and although it wasn't the usual professional image that he liked to project, he had made his displeasure known. And then in a final act of bloody-mindedness, he had re-assigned the soldiers who formed the shuttle's command crew so that they would accompany him on his transfer to the frigate. That had been part of his agreement with Rieekan. He would abide by Rieekan's decision, providing he took the command crew with him. Rieekan had given in surprisingly easily. So easy, in fact, Madine suspected he already had a new command crew in mind.

Madine still didn't like it.

Madine glanced behind to see if Solo was following him. The smuggler was quiet, the arrogant smirk unusually absent from his face. Madine wondered how much the carbonite experience had affected him. Solo's face revealed nothing. If anything, he looked relaxed—too relaxed—though his pupils did seem unusually dilated.

_Well, things will hot up for you soon, Solo, _Madine thought.

He was about to introduce Solo to the members of the task force. Madine had no intentions of graciously handing over to Solo and providing him with a comprehensive briefing. The younger Corellian would have to try on the vacuum suit and see if it fit.

Madine smiled to himself. It would be more accurate to describe what he was about to do Solo as opening the airlock and pushing him out, minus the suit.

-o-

Feeling light-headed, Han strode down the corridor of the cruiser, trailing in the furious wake of General Madine. The taller Solo could easily have kept pace with the blond Corellian general, however for once he thought it wiser to give Madine some space rather than antagonise him. Especially as Solo knew he was the cause of Madine's foul mood.

Being swept along in Madine's wake, Solo switched into autopilot mode and attempted to detect the spice derivative coursing through his system. He had escaped from the medcenter relatively unscathed, a packet of medication in his pocket and a commission in his hand. He was fortunate that the doctor on duty had been Tuulavich, the same doctor who had seen to his care after he had returned to the fleet. It meant he hadn't needed to cover old ground with an unfamiliar medical practitioner.

Tuulavich had been genuinely flabbergasted when Solo had appeared at the medcenter and explained that Rieekan wanted medical approval before commissioning him. She had not been easy on him. Despite his claims of perfect health, Tuulavich had run a scanner over him to check his vitals, then advised that all seemed well from a physical perspective. He had agreed with her diagnosis, but still she had eyed him sceptically.

"You've noticed no difference in the way you feel or behave? Or the way others act around you?"

He had shaken his head, not wanting to mention the physical problems he was having in bed, the depression and mood swings in case they jeopardised his commission.

"No."

The doctor had indicated his right hand; thankfully, she had failed to see the bruising on his left. "How long have you had the shakes?"

Solo had defensively folded his arms across his chest. "It's nothing. Doesn't affect me."

Tuulavich had sighed. "Look, Solo. I won't stand in your way. If you want a commission so you can fight against the Empire, I'll tell Rieekan anything you want me to. But if you're serious about getting some help, especially if you want to survive this fight, perhaps you should _talk_ to me."

Han had not budged, but she had weakened his resolve. Tuulavich had then surprised him by calling Rieekan and advising that he was physically and mentally fit.

When she had signed off, she had turned to Solo. "Okay, you've got your commission. Now. Tell me the truth."

He had relented as much as he could; as much a man who was not comfortable being in medcenters, or the center of attention, could. But he hadn't told her much. He had admitted to the tremble in his hand that occasionally got worse. The short temper. The trouble he had sleeping.

He made no mention of nightmares; the dark moods and self-loathing; the feeling of being disconnected from events around him; screaming in the 'fresher; his impotence; and especially not the grey-out that had seen him nearly kill Lando.

The doctor had listened without comment or judgement, then explained that she had limited psychological experience, but she could prescribe a medication that would relieve his anxiety and allow him to better cope under stressful situations.

"I don't do drugs," he had insisted, though not as emphatically as he had told Chewbacca.

Tuulavich had been prepared for his response. "What about a spice derivative?"

Han had swallowed and run a hand through his hair. "Not andris," he had told her. Andris may have been used in psychopharmacology, but it heavily dulled the senses and usually slipped the user into a stuporous haze. He could not afford to go into battle in a spaced-out state.

Tuulavich had shaken her head. "I was thinking about a low dose of drofic."

A shiver had run up his spine and he had shifted in his seat. "What'll that do to me?"

"As I said, relieve the anxiety. Relax you, but still allow you to focus and concentrate. It should also ease that nervous twitch in your hand."

His instincts screamed at him to say no. To leave the medcenter and continue to put up with whatever plagued him, knowing that spice could only cause him trouble. Tuulavich had already assured he had a commission; he didn't need any further help from her. But there was a part of him that thought differently, knew better. A part that recognised that he needed help if he was going to survive. He definitely wanted to survive. Needed to survive. Needed to be there for Leia if he was going to spend the rest of his life with her.

Han had left the medcenter with the spice-derivative capsules in his jacket pocket, having already taken one under the watchful eye of the doctor. The medication worked fast. By the time he arrived back at Rieekan's office, the tension had left his skull and shoulders and he no longer felt like he needed to keep looking behind his back.

Rieekan had welcomed him back by shaking his hand in congratulations. "Welcome back, General Solo."

"You're kidding," Solo had quipped. "Who died and made me a general?"

The look he received Rieekan suggested his wit had not been overly appreciated. "I need you to lead a special mission; command a strike force. And as the current commander that you'll be replacing is a general, I need to give you a commensurate rank to show that I'm deadly serious about this mission and that I have confidence in your capabilities."

Solo's eyebrows had raised in disbelief. "You sure you wanna make me a general, though? No one's gonna wear that."

"You undersell, yourself, son. There's many a soldier who would gladly follow you to war, and many that already have. In my opinion, _that's_ the mark of a real leader, not how many years you've served or how many staff courses you've attended. It's whether you have the skills to get the job done and can inspire the troops to follow and emulate you."

Solo had almost cringed under the praise. "But a _general_? I'm too young to be a general."

"I made Calrissian a commander."

That had changed everything. "You made Calrissian a commander?"

Rieekan had smiled smugly. "I made Calrissian a commander. Do you think you can handle being a general?"

The crooked grin slipped up the smuggler's face. "I'm sure I can stomach being a general, especially if I out-rank Calrissian."

He would play 'general' for a short time. He didn't doubt that the commission would be rescinded if the Rebels won. And if they lost it wouldn't make any difference anyway.

"Who will I be replacing?" Solo had asked.

The Alderaanian general had given him an enigmatic look. "A friend of yours. Compatriot."

Solo had asked with relish, "Madine?"

Rieekan had nodded. "Is that going to be a problem?"

The two Corellians had never liked one another. Madine's disdain for Solo was founded in his knowledge that the insubordinate younger man had disobeyed a lawful command at the flight academy, then slipped into the depths of smuggling and other illegal activities. Solo didn't like the Madine simply because Madine didn't like him.

The roguish glint in Solo's eyes returned. "Not anymore."

Before Rieekan had headed off to discuss the new arrangements with Madine, he had set the Corellian up at a vacant workstation that Solo knew was Leia's. Mon Mothma's shuttle had recently docked; Rieekan explained that Leia had been required to attend to the Supreme Commander and other members of the Alliance High Command.

Han had been disappointed that she wasn't there for him to share what had happened over the last hour. He had considered calling her, or leaving a voice message on her comlink, but preferred the idea of telling her in person. Instead, he turned his attention to the operational plans and orders and the intelligence estimates that Rieekan had provided to him, knowing that he had a lot of work to catch up on if he was going to be adequately prepared for the mission.

It had been nearly forty minutes before Rieekan returned with Madine, which made Solo suspect that Madine had not given in easily or graciously. From the red tide that rose up around the blond general's collar, Solo's suspicions were confirmed. There had been no niceties between the two Corellian generals as Madine had sized up the younger man, but neither had there been any hostility or sarcasm from Solo. Han suspected the spice may have mellowed out his attitude as well.

Now, as he followed Madine to the storage hold that the strike force had commandeered as their section HQ, Solo found himself studying Madine's uniform and wondering what he would look like in one

Solo mentally shook his head. There was no way he was wearing a uniform, not in this military or any other one. He'd already spent three long years in uniform at the academy and a few short weeks wearing mudtrooper armour. He was joining the Alliance to show his commitment to Leia and his support for the ideals they both embraced. He wasn't joining because he wanted to wear a uniform again, to take orders, or to have his free-will trampled upon. That just wasn't who he was.

He'd already decided that he would play 'general' if that what was asked of him. The rest, he would worry about that later.

_Later._ He knew he would be lucky if he only died a quick death.

Madine came to a hatchway, keyed it open and headed through without explanation. Solo was still a few metres behind, but he heard the bark that called Madine's team to attention. He entered through the hatch in time to see ten soldiers forming up smartly in the center of the hold and snapping to attention. Madine eyes were cold and hard as he sauntered down the line of soldiers—male and female, humans, near-humans and a felinoid of some species. When he came to the end, he pivoted on his toe and returned towards Solo. Madine stared at Han as he gestured at the soldiers.

"Here you go, Solo," Madine told him. "They're all yours."

Solo glanced at his troops, then back at the shorter general. "This is all of them?"

Madine's mouth twisted into a nasty smile. "The command crew have already been re-assigned. But don't worry." He looked at his chrono. "You've still got 46 hours to come up with replacements."

Solo unconsciously copied Madine's actions and checked out his own wrist chrono. The thought of having to find a new command team in less than two days did not overly concern him. He could always get Wedge or some of the other Rogue Squadron pilots. Or even Chewie, providing the Wookiee was still talking to him; Han hadn't spoken to his friend since the disagreement they'd had yesterday. With any luck, Luke would be back soon and Solo would have the chance to ask the young Jedi to be part of the crew.

And then there was Leia. Since the time of her rescue from the first Death Star, the princess had proven that she was a capable of undertaking low-level ops. Solo had dodged blaster fire and shared many combat rations with the diminutive princess throughout the operations they had been on over the previous four years. He knew if he asked her, she would follow him willingly. But as much as he wanted to go on this mission with Leia at his side, it would be safer for her to remain on the _Home One_.

It occurred to him that if he didn't want to argue with her over his resolve not to allow her in the command crew, it would be wiser not to tell her about either the mission or his commissioning until the last possible moment. He recognised this decision could cost him, not only because he had specifically sought out a commission to prove his commitment to the princess, but because it was possible she would love him less once she found out he had hidden it from her.

Without further word or instruction, Madine brushed past Solo and left him alone with his team. Solo stared at the hatchway as it closed behind Madine, momentarily lost in thought. He listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing, ensured his hand was not trembling, then turned back to the squad.

"Relax, guys," Solo suggested.

Ten pairs of eyes glanced curiously towards their new commander, yet they remained steadfastly at attention.

Solo tried again. "At ease."

With precision timing, their legs widened to the formal 'at ease' position, arms bent and tucked smartly behind their backs.

_I hope Madine taught them more than just great drill, _Solo thought bleakly.

Solo moved to the center of the line, quickly assimilating the different faces and body shapes into his mind. He didn't recognise any of them, but then he had mainly mixed with squadron pilots. Outfitted in camouflaged fatigues and field boots, they were a mixture of old and young, experienced and novice. They all appeared alert and fit, and Solo didn't doubt they were healthier than he currently was.

"Okay," General Solo began, "who's in charge here?"

A middle-aged lieutenant with white-blond hair and beard spoke up. "You are, sir."

Solo grinned, suspecting the man was the second-in-command. "Good answer. And you are?"

"Perron, sir. Jax Perron."

"You the 2IC?"

"Yes, sir."

Solo felt the urge to cover his ears. Instead, he shook his head. "Listen up. I don't want to repeat this." He met the eyes of his soldiers. "My name is Solo. Han Solo. You can call me 'Solo', or 'Han'. Or if you can't handle that, then 'General' will be also fine. But not too many 'sirs', all right? They'll give me a rash."

His first directive to the squad only seemed to confuse them. Frowns rippled across their foreheads and a few of them exchanged disconcerted glances.

General Solo continued. "You may be accustomed to the Madine School of Management and Discipline, but you'll have to quickly get used to the way I operate. I'm sure you can handle that. You're all flexible and adaptable, otherwise you wouldn't have been assigned to this strike force in the first place."

There were murmurs of assent.

"And you're probably wondering how we're getting where we're going now that our command crew has disappeared on us."

A corporal, perhaps around Luke's age, spoke up. "We have been wondering about that, sir…er, Solo…er, General."

The young woman blushed at her error, and Han gave her a brilliant smile in return, increasing the flush across her cheeks.

"Pick one and stick with it," he kindly suggested.

This time, the corporal's response was not as bold. "Yes, General."

Solo raised an eyebrow and continued. "I don't want you worrying about where the command crew is coming from. That's my concern and my job to solve. You guys have other things to contend with, all right?" He sighed at the chorus of 'Yes, sirs'. "I've got a lotta work to do if I want to catch up with the rest of you. I'd appreciate all the help you can give me." There was another round of 'Yes, sirs' and Solo rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You're doing it on purpose now, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir!" the soldiers yelled out in unison.

Solo shook his head in resignation and met the gaze of Lieutenant Perron. The elder man shrugged his shoulders and smiled unapologetically.

Han nodded and matched the smile with his own lopsided version. _So far, so good, _he considered. _This 'general stuff' might work out, after all._

"Okay, Perron," Solo conceded. "Do you wanna give me a briefing. Or are you and the squad gonna punish me some more?"


	8. Chapter 8

_**Committed**_

_**by CorellianBlue**_

_(first published 2003, revised 2016, 2020)_

_Warnings: language; sexual content; mental health issues_

**VIII**

Han tilted his head back and enjoyed the sensation of warm water streaming down his body. Having a real water shower installed into the _Falcon's_ refresher was one of the small luxuries he had allowed himself, and each time he used it he congratulated himself on his acumen. Except he was certain he hadn't been thinking about much of anything when Chewbacca had found him screaming in the shower yesterday. Even now, just recalling the incident caused him to wince with embarrassment. He had no idea what had come over him.

Lathering the liquid cleanser across his chest and arms, Solo noticed that the slight quiver had returned to his hand.

_The doc was about right,_ he thought.

The calming effects of the spice appeared to last 10 hours. Despite the dosage advice from the doctor, he wondered if he really needed to take another capsule. Apart from the tremble in his hand, he didn't feel as disjointed now as he had previously, nor as moody. Admittedly, he was tired, though he recognised that as a result of preparing for the mission, not the energy-sapping fatigue that had eaten at his bones for the last few days.

Solo still had no command crew. There hadn't been time to approach any likely contenders, and if he was truthful about it, he was partly hoping Chewie and Luke would sign on. He had also been unable to contact Leia. He'd left a few messages on her comlink, but as she hadn't returned them, he assumed that the Supreme Commander must be keeping her hopping. As there were only two sleep cycles left before he was due to depart with the strike force, the last thing he wanted to do was spend a night on his own, but there seemed no way around that. He hoped he'd be able to catch up with Leia prior to the first briefing session tomorrow.

The hatch to the refresher suddenly opened and Chewbacca appeared at the threshold.

[Han?] The Wookie's growl was inquiring, not threatening, and there was a hesitancy in his stance. [Are you all right?]

Solo wiped the beads of water from the transparent door so that he could better see his friend. He didn't blame Chewbacca for interrupting his shower; knowing the way the Corellian had been behaving lately, the Wookiee was within his rights to be concerned.

"I'm okay," Solo assured him, a self-consciousness turning the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry. I have no intentions of drowning myself."

Chewbacca chuckled weakly. For a moment, an uncomfortable silence descended over them, then Chewbacca turned to go, only stopping when Han called his name.

"Chewie." Solo didn't quite know what he wanted to say, only that he owed his friend an apology for the way he had spoken to him and was grateful that the Wookiee cared about him. Words seemed totally inadequate, and Solo was never very good at choosing the right ones to use at the right moment. He accepted the only word that came to mind. "Thanks."

Chewbacca nodded briefly in acknowledgment, then the hatch cycled shut behind him.

Solo finished his shower, combed his hair, then shaved. Although he normally didn't shave before bed, he was intent on testing the extent of the trembling in his hand as he moved the shaver across his face. By the time he finished, a spark of anger had ignited in the back of his mind and the trembling had increased. Telling himself that he didn't need any more medication, he padded back into his cabin on bare feet and settled into his bunk. The muscles in his shoulders tightened as he rested his head on the pillow. He became painfully aware of Leia's absence from his side, and the dullness aching in his chest. His annoyance at his reaction escalated.

_Relax, _he growled at himself, grinding his teeth together. _You need all the sleep you can get. Lots of things to do tomorrow._

Struggling to ignore the thumping pulse in his ears, Solo closed his eyes. An asphyxiating grip immediately clamped around his throat and chest. He struggled into an upright position and turned on the lights, unconsciously gasping with the effort. He swore at himself and smashed a fist against his forehead, then yelled at himself again for over-reacting.

_Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!_

He pressed his hands against his face and tried hard to control his breathing. _You're losing it again, Solo._

With a furious swipe of his hand, he pulled the covers off and rose to his feet.

_Okay_, _you win,_ he snarled internally, snatching up his jacket.

He removed the pack of medication from a pocket, pushed a capsule from its protective seal and swallowed it dry. When there was no immediate relief, he swallowed two more capsules, then sat on the edge of his bunk and waited for the anger and anxiety to subside.

The medication slowly seeped into his system, calming his racing heart and easing the tension in his muscles. Within ten minutes he was relaxed enough to wonder if he shouldn't have had three capsules. He was not sure how the extra dose would affect him. He supposed it was possible to be _too_ relaxed and serene.

_Oh well, _he thought mellowly. _Too late._ At worst, he suspected it would be a little like being drunk.

Solo closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, relishing the feeling of relaxation and well-being, and speculating why he hadn't used spice for such a long time. The uncharacteristic thought jolted him back on course. _Careful, _he told himself, _that's the spice thinking. Accept it for what it is but remember what it can turn you into._

He realised he was probably being over cautious. Drofic was a very subtle spice that wasn't worth the effort for serious spice users, and as the medication he was on was only a derivative of drofic, he knew he didn't have anything to worry about. The anti-spicer in him was wary, nonetheless.

Looking down at the rumpled sheets and covers, Solo decided he had no desire to sleep in his bunk without Leia. She may still be working late, but he knew the code to her suite. There was no reason he couldn't head back to her cabin and wait for her to return. Just being in her bed may provide him enough comfort to get some sleep.

He dressed quickly, choosing something that would also do for the brief tomorrow, stuffed the medication in a vest pocket as an afterthought, and left his cabin. In his hurry to get to Leia's suite, he almost bumped into Chewbacca in the narrow corridor.

[Hey there,] Chewbacca steadied him with a gentle paw. [What's the rush?]

"Chewie!" Solo blurted out. "Ah, no rush. No rush at all. Just wanna get somewhere fast."

[Where are you going?]

Solo winked and smiled goofily. "Leia's place. The princess. Her Royal Highnessnessness." He blew his wistful smile into a long sigh.

The Wookiee studied Solo carefully, noticed the brightness in his eyes and the red in his cheeks. It was more than the blood-rush of lust driving Solo on, but there was no smell of alcohol either on Solo's breath or emanating from his pores.

[Are you on something?] Chewbacca asked suspiciously.

Solo's smile became amusingly dreamy. "Only love, my friend. Only love."

Chewbacca's laughter echoed down the corridor and he fondly ruffled Solo's hair. The laughter ceased as Solo clasped a hand onto the Wookiee's arm and looked at him seriously.

Solo asked, "Are you coming to the briefings tomorrow?"

Chewbacca shrugged. "I had no intention. There is enough work to keep me busy without wasting my time on briefings and meetings.] He cocked his head at the Corellian. [Why? Do you still intend flying in the battle?]

Solo shook his head and explained, "I promised Leia I wouldn't. I bet you had something to do with that, right?"

The hair on Chewbacca's forehead shifted in imitation of raising an eyebrow, but he said nothing.

"Come to the briefings," Solo continued. "There's something I need to tell you and ask you, but I can't do it until then." Because if Chewbacca didn't believe that he was fit to lead the mission against the shield generator, he was afraid the Wookiee would ensure that the princess talked him out of it as well. And then how could he show his commitment to Leia?

Chewbacca nodded in agreement. "I'll be there."

Solo grinned his appreciation, then his face became solemn again. "What I said about your Life Debt—"

[Already forgiven,] Chewbacca assured him. [And forgotten.]

Solo clasped the Wookiee's arm again and received another ruffling of his hair for his troubles. They parted without another word.

Solo had only travelled a few steps before Chewbacca called out to him, [Give the princess a kiss from me!]

"In your dreams." Solo replied flippantly.

The Han Solo who ambled up to Princess Leia's cabin was perhaps the most relaxed member of the crew. He nodded agreeably at the people he passed, occasionally grinning at the responses he received. He wasn't worried by the knowledge that less than two Standard days he would lead a strike force upon which the survival of the Alliance depended. And it didn't concern him that he still hadn't found a command crew for the shuttle. When he reached Leia's cabin, he was even humming a jaunty tune to himself. Hiding a smug smile and trying to smooth out his Wookiee-ruffled hair, he keyed in the code and let himself in.

Leia was sitting cross-legged on her bunk, head tilted to one side, running a brush in long strokes through her hair. At his unexpected entrance, Leia sat upright and smiled brightly at him.

"I was just thinking about you," she beamed.

Solo closed the hatch behind him, moved further into the room and towards her. "Good thoughts, I hope."

"Always good," she grinned. "Well, some are wicked, but then you _have_ corrupted me."

Solo leaned down and kissed her, his lips softly nibbling at hers. Their mouths parted but he rested his forehead against hers in an intimate gesture that had become their way of showing affection.

With his head still pressed to hers, he sat down on the bed and whispered, "Hey."

"Hey yourself."

He pulled away from her slightly so he could better see her face. "Busy day?"

She sighed and nodded.

"Did you get my messages?"

Her expression was tinged with guilt. "I'm sorry. I only just noticed them when I got in. I didn't call you because I didn't think you'd be awake."

Han's smile was self-deprecating. "I haven't slept for the last five nights. Why would I start now?"

Leia grimaced. "I'm sorry." She pushed her hair back and off her shoulders. "It's just been a terrible day. I didn't want to bother you."

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "'S'okay."

Han stared at her intently. Since he'd been staying in her cabin, he'd noticed she'd taken to wearing his clothes to bed and although he'd briefly wondered why, he'd been too caught up in his depression to bother to ask her. She'd been forced to wear his clothes on the flight to Bespin because all of hers had caught the last transport out of Hoth, but that wouldn't have been a problem now.

The white undershirt she currently wore was too big for her and hung loosely on her shoulders, revealing the smooth curve of breast when she moved her arms. Tucked up under the tail of the shirt, she wore a pair of his hip-and-thigh-hugging boxer briefs, and on her feet, the thick, white spacer socks also looked familiar. There was a fragrance to her skin, suggesting she had just had a 'fresher, and her hair shone in the cabin's bright, recessed lights.

_Damn, she is beautiful, _he thought. _What in the stars does she see in me?_

There was a gentle stirring in his loins, but Solo quickly disregarded any idea of attempting to make love to this beautiful woman. Not after all his previous failures. He was in too good a mood to want to ruin it. Tonight, it would be enough just to be with her, to touch her, to love her and know that she loved him.

"Keep wearing my clothes, Princess, people are gonna think there's something going on between us."

Leia tilted her chin and confided, "I hate to tell you, but there _is_ something going on between us."

"Oh. I thought it was just my vivid imagination." He winked, then he indicated her attire with a nod of his head. "When did you do an alpha strike on my closet?"

She dipped her head slightly and her the spark in her eyes dulled. Her voice was low when she spoke. "Wearing your clothes was the only way I used to be able to get to sleep without you."

Her admission crashed inside him. He smiled at her sadly. If the last year had been a nightmare for him, it must have been a living hell for her. She deserved better than this, better than him, better than he could offer. He didn't know _where_ to start with giving her what she deserved. He had sought out a commission to demonstrate his commitment to her, and yet he couldn't tell her about it in case she tried to curtail his mission or insisted upon accompanying him. And how would she react once she did find out, especially as his commitment to her meant he had to leave her again?

"I'm here now," he promised, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it.

He rose from the bed, undid his holster's tie-down strap and released the gun-rig from his hips. Leia's mouth opened but she was silent as she watched him remove his boots and trousers, then his vest and shirt. He placed his clothes across the desk and chair and met her curious gaze. Standing next to the bunk, hair ruffled, dressed only in his socks and underwear, he made an interesting sight.

"Thought I'd join you," he explained, sitting on the bed behind her. "Sorry I don't have a shirt to match yours, but someone _stole_ all of mine."

Giggling, Leia tried to turn to face him, but he gently pushed her shoulders so that her back remained towards him. He scooted forward on his rump, stretched his legs out on either side of her and adjusted her position so that she was sitting between his thighs. He took the brush from her lap, spread her hair across her shoulders and commenced brushing it in long strokes.

"I've always wanted to do this," he told her.

She smiled at his admission and rested her hands on his thighs. He started humming as he brushed her hair, singing the occasional word of some song he obviously didn't know the words to.

Leia suddenly asked, "What did you see Rieekan about today?"

Han didn't miss a beat. "He wanted my opinion on a few aspects of the ops plans." Which wasn't that far from the truth. "And if he keeps this up, I may have to start invoicing him. Possibly by the word."

The playful swat she gave to his leg quickly became a loving caress of his thigh.

"What else did you get up to while I was enjoying myself with High Command?"

Han stopped brushing her hair. "I went to the medcenter. To see Tuulavich."

"Oh?" The tremor in Leia's voice was noticeable. "W-what did s-she say?"

"It's not that bad."

"I-I didn't—"

He chuckled. "You didn't have to."

Pulling the hair away from her ear, he gave it a quick nibble, but the gesture only disconcerted her more. She tensed and he noticed her reaction. "Leia—"

"What did the doctor say?" she insisted.

Solo grinned and prodded her shoulder in gentle rebuke. She really _was_ worried about him.

"Relax." He shook his head. "The doc didn't say I needed to be committed, all right?" He pursed his lips and returned to brushing her hair. "She just gave me something to get my head together."

"What sort?"

"A derivative of drofic." He understood why she was asking this level of detail. "Mild spice. Low dose. Not overly addictive. Okay?"

Leia nodded, but she had one more question to ask. "And is it working?"

Han's laugh was incredulous. "You haven't noticed? I feel great!" He placed his arm around her body and held his hand up to her face. "Look."

His hand was rock steady, fingers still and relaxed. The princess twisted her shoulders around and met his wonderful, lopsided grin. His eyes were wide, the black of the pupils nearly subsuming the hazel. She smiled at him, delighted to see him so happy. Then he _giggled,_ and she couldn't help but laugh with him.

"You're high!" she accused, spinning around on her bottom to face him. His head shook in solemn denial and she pushed at his chest. "Yes, you are!"

He covered his mouth with his fingers and raised his eyebrows. "Maybe." His face cracked into a grin and he chuckled again. "Think I had too much."

As he normally didn't take spice or chemical stimulants, Leia had never seen him in this state before. Drunk, yes, but never high on drugs.

"Is that a concern?" she wondered.

"It's only drofic," he reassured her. "Should wear off in a few hours." He was still grinning like an idiot, delighting in her concern for him. "Thought I'd just enjoy it while it lasts."

Unable to maintain her disquiet while he was laughing, she pushed at him again. "And at my expense, it seems."

His face dropped and he tried to be serious for a moment. "Naaaah." But at the sight of her bemused look, his laughter broke through again and he took her hand. "Come on in and join me. The water's fine."

The invitation was too tempting. Leia's fingers darted towards his bare ribs, and she started tickling him. His chuckle gathered strength. As they'd both discovered on the flight to Bespin, he wasn't particularly ticklish, but her attempt was both amusing and endearing.

His laughter was contagious, and Leia joined in as her hands moved up his chest and into his armpits. She shrieked when he unexpectedly fell backwards and dragged her with him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, while she mercilessly attacked his ribs again. She was laughing so hard herself that it took her some time to realise he had stopped.

Wondering what was wrong, Leia pushed herself up on his chest to look at his face. His eyes were shut, and a satisfied smile curved his lips. He tugged on her hair, encouraging her down until he pushed her head against his torso. Leia complied with his desire to simply hold her. She pressed her hips against his stomach, tucked her face between his shoulder and chest, and relaxed with him. He sighed contentedly and she leaned forward to kiss his neck.

They quietened and held each other, their senses awash with the other's presence. Leia's eyes closed and she listened to his breathing settle into a steady rhythm, his heart beating beneath her hand that lay against his chest. Before long, she realised he was asleep. Soundly and blissfully. She held him for a while longer, waiting for the inevitable nightmares, and when they failed to eventuate, she carefully reached across and pushed the switch for the lights.

Leia snuggled back into her lover, to hold him and watch over him while he slept.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Committed**_

_**by CorellianBlue**_

_(first published 2003, revised 2016, 2020)_

_Warnings: language; sexual content; mental health issues_

**IX**

From half a light year out, the Sullustan primary was a distant speck of light, a dust mote in a seething mass of starships. Alliance factions previously spread throughout the galaxy were now merging and multiplying, convening here on the outer edge of the system before launching one final attack against the Empire and its planet-crushing Death Star. _Home One_, the immense Mon Calamari cruiser and Rebel command ship, dwarfed the frigates and escorts as it lumbered through the Rebel fleet. Smaller snub fighters soared over the hull of the cruiser, dogging the mechanical leviathan like a school of suckerfish.

The _Home One's _central briefing theater hummed with noise and activity. The theater's stepped, circular layout had not originally been designed to house a council of war, and so the Rebels who had gathered here had to weave and push their way past each other as they waited for the briefing session to commence.

Han Solo stood to one side of the entrance, leaning against the bulkhead as he tried not to get in the way while he kept an eye out for his friend and his princess. Leia was busy attending to the specific needs of High Command, though Han noticed that quite a few of the councillors were already here in attendance. And although Chewbacca had promised he would attend, Han wondered if the Wookiee would be able to stomach a formal briefing session, especially with all these stiff-backed civilian- and military-types present. There was a gaggle of high profile, high ranking senior officers here, and those who had chosen to remain on board their vessels would be tuning into the briefing as it was transmitted throughout the fleet.

A colonel brushed past him and Han muttered an apology for getting in the way, despite the other man glaring at him as if he had no right in being there. In order to maintain operational security about the mission against the shield generator, only a handful of Rebels knew the smuggler had been commissioned, and as Solo still chose to wear his spacer attire he assumed he must have looked like an uninvited guest. He was grateful that the drofic had tamed his sarcastic attitude, otherwise he may have flattened a few of his new colleagues by now.

Despite the chaotic atmosphere, Han felt calm and relaxed. He had slept a good seven hours straight before awakening when Leia had rolled from his arms. He and Leia had shared a quick breakfast her room before Han had headed off to check in with his troops, while the princess hurried to her own duties with High Command. He smiled now as he recalled her astonishment when he had agreed to attend this briefing session with her. No doubt she had believed she would've had trouble convincing him to come.

Han still had not been successful in scrounging up a new command crew, even if only as a backup in case Chewie refused and Luke didn't return in time. That was his first job once the briefing was over: discuss with Rieekan likely contenders for the crew.

"Solo."

Han looked over his shoulder. Rieekan had unexpectedly appeared at the hatchway to a small alcove and was beckoning to him. Han glanced around, checking one final time for Chewie and Leia, then pushed himself upright and followed Rieekan into the alcove.

Han immediately recognised the dark-haired woman who stood next to Crix Madine. Mon Mothma—the Supreme Commander of the Alliance against the Empire. The stately Chandrilan woman and former Imperial senator was the political leader and symbol of the Rebellion. Without her direction and the guidance of High Command, the Alliance would have lost its way long ago.

Rieekan ushered him towards the Supreme Commander. "Mon Mothma, may I introduce you to General Han Solo. Han is leading the strike force against the shield generator."

Han instinctively clicked his heels together and bowed at the waist. "Ma'am." Then wondered what had caused him to react as though he was still a cadet at the Carida academy.

"Solo?" Mon Mothma said his name as if recognising it from somewhere. "Ah, yes. I believe you and Commander Skywalker played a part in Princess Leia's rescue, as well as the destruction of the first Death Star." Her chin rose as she studied him for a moment. "A pleasure to meet you, General. And so, we have yet another Corellian warrior wanting to fight the Empire. I wonder if it's in the blood or in the water?"

Rieekan grinned, but Han missed the connection. He gathered that Madine had appreciated the remark, for the blond general sniggered.

"Solo is no Garm Bel Iblis," Madine opined snidely.

Now Han understood. The reference was to the former Corellian senator, a one-time adversary of Mon Mothma and co-founder of the Alliance. There had been a disagreement or falling out between Bel Iblis and Mon Mothma, and the Corellian general had parted company with the Rebellion not long after the Battle of Yavin.

"What is your background, General?"

Madine chuckled and expectantly turned to hear what Solo had to say. The former smuggler cleared his throat, uncertain whether he should tell the truth or cover up his past. He was aware that when she was a senator, Mon Mothma had a well-known prejudice against pirates and smugglers. He wondered if it would be preferable to claim an Imperial background instead, even if that was more than 10 years ago and relatively short-lived.

Han settled for the Corellian euphemism for smuggler. "I'm a free trader."

Madine guffawed loudly and Mon Mothma's eyes widened. "I see." She glanced at Rieekan, as if questioning the judgement of the Alderaanian general, then looked earnestly back at Solo. "Allow me to wish you the best of luck, General."

Uncertain if he should feel offended, Han nodded once and replied, "Aah, thanks."

The Supreme Commander turned her head towards the other Command members who were conversing quietly in a corner. "If you'll excuse me, gentles, I have some final matters to attend to." She took her leave from the three generals and moved across to her colleagues.

Rieekan glanced at his wrist chrono. "We should be starting soon." The Alderaanian general glanced out the hatchway. "I wonder where…" He turned back to Han. "You haven't seen Leia lately? She was supposed to sort something out for me."

Han shook his head. "Not since we left her cabin a few hours ago."

Han's response seemed not to register with Rieekan, then he straightened and met the younger man's eyes.

"When this is all over," Rieekan sternly suggested, "remind me that we need to sit down and have a chat about a few things."

Han seemed to have enough sense to keep his tongue in his head and a smile from his lips. He shrugged agreeably. "Okay."

Rieekan headed back into the theater in search of Leia. Ha was about to follow when Madine nudged him in the ribs and remarked, "Free trader? Smooth, Solo, real smooth. You impressed me, but I'm not so sure about the Supreme Commander."

Not even the drofic could contain Han's dislike for his compatriot.

"Asshole," he muttered, stepping to one side as he attempted to put some distance between himself and the blond general.

Madine stiffened, squared his shoulders and placed himself back in the path of the taller Corellian. "Do you want to settle this here and now, smuggler?"

Han's smile was forced. "Why don't we fight it out with the Empire first, hey, Crix?"

Madine's face lit up triumphantly. "I _knew_ you needed a Wookiee at your back to give you some balls."

There was a dangerous glint in Han's eye as his hand flexed above the butt of his blaster.

When he spoke, his voice was a monotone. "Any time you can work yourself up for a little speed-draw comp, give me a call."

Madine met the quiet threat with equal conviction. "Oh, I'll give you a 'call' all right, Solo. You don't have to worry about that."

Han knew Madine was not responding literally to the offer of a duel; Madine was warning him that he would be there at his back, constantly hounding him until they finally did settle the animosity between them.

Han pushed past Madine and headed out into the briefing theater.

To his relief, Chewbacca had turned up. The Wookiee was standing at the top of the stadium seating, as far away from the front of the room as possible and looking uncomfortable in the crowd of smaller sentient beings. Chewbacca brightened when he saw Han and tromped down the steps towards him.

"Glad you came," Han told him as the Wookiee fondly patted his shoulder.

[You know how much I hate these things,] Chewbacca grumbled. [I'm only here because of you. This had better be worth my while or I'm going to be pissed.]

Han gave him a tight grin. "Gee, it's nice to know that you like me, otherwise I might be offended."

Chewbacca folded his arms across his chest and looked at his friend. [You're certainly in another good mood.] His head tilted curiously. [That medication must be working.]

Han was abashed for a moment, as if he had been caught out doing something wrong. He couldn't hide much of anything from the Wookiee.

The Corellian met Chewbacca's gentle gaze. "Yeah."

[Took a little too much last night?] Chewbacca suggested, baring his teeth in a grin.

Han shrugged. "An interesting experience."

[It was certainly interesting to watch.]

"You should've seen it from my side."

Chewbacca sniggered. [I'll pass on that, thanks.] He glanced around at the milling Rebel officers. [This is a bit high level for us. Shall we sink to our rightful positions up the back?]

"Are you kidding?" Han asked. "Leia's got a front row seat. I thought we'd join her."

Chewbacca started at Han's uncharacteristic suggestion, his stare sliding from bewilderment to wonder.

As the Wookiee looked as though he was about to question him further, Solo added, "I wouldn't miss this for anything." Then he spied Lando across the other side of the room and tried to distract Chewbacca with the appearance of Calrissian. "Would you get a load of that."

The hair prickled on the back of Solo's neck. He hadn't seen Lando—no, now it was _Commander_ Calrissian—since yesterday's incident in the _Falcon_. It had been confirmed that Lando would be leading the fighter attack against the Death Star, something that still stuck in Han's throat if he was honest with himself.

Lando was chatting animatedly with a few pilots, Wedge, Janson, Maarker and an unfamiliar Sullustan native. And while the other pilots were attired in flying suits, Lando was dressed up in that antiquated Alliance uniform that looked like a throwback to the Old Republic. He even wore a cape; a _fucking_ cape.

Chewbacca _whuffled_ in amusement. [He's always been a show-nerf. Now he's got the uniform to match.]

Han's lips twisted. "Yeah."

Calrissian became aware of their attention, quickly excused himself from the others and headed towards Solo and Chewbacca.

Han didn't even attempt to keep the sarcasm from his tone. "Look at you. A commander."

Calrissian beamed proudly. "Someone must have told them about my little manoeuvre at the Battle of Taanab."

"Don't look at me," Han dismissively told him. "I just said you were a fair pilot. I didn't know they were looking for someone to lead this crazy attack."

Calrissian appraised him frankly. "I'm surprised they didn't ask you to do it."

The Corellian's smile suggested that Lando didn't know everything. "Who says they didn't, but I ain't crazy." _Not anymore, anyway, _he added to himself_. _"You're the _respectable_ one, remember."

The emphasis on the description was far from flattering, and Lando regarded Solo warily.

A chime sounded, signalling that the brief was about to commence. The Rebels hustled to their seats as Han glanced around again, looking for Leia one more time. She still wasn't here. He shuffled the reluctant Wookiee onto a bench in the front row and took a seat next to him, noting with interest that Lando preferred to remain standing in the aisle next to Chewbacca, his arms folded imperiously across his chest.

A small form bumped against Han and he turned to find Leia sliding into the empty position next to him. She looked mildly flustered, her face coloured with exertion, but she smiled at him and squeezed his knee.

The clamour from the audience was rapidly quietening, so Han spoke in hushed tones. "I thought you were gonna miss out on all the fun."

Leia's eyes gleamed with gratitude. "Thanks for coming," she told him solemnly.

"The least I could do."

Her gaze moved past him towards Chewbacca. "How did you talk Chewie into it."

He gave her a lopsided grin. "With my renowned charm."

"Gentles." General Rieekan commanded the attention of the audience. He took a step back. "The Supreme Commander of the Alliance against the Empire, Mon Mothma."

The Rebels rose to attention as Mon Mothma entered the theater from the rear alcove. The other members of High Command trailed behind her, followed by Madine and a few other high-level military officers. The Supreme Commander indicated that the gathering should resume their seats and they silently complied.

When the audience was seated, Mon Mothma took up a position at the center of the briefing theater in front of the holographic display. Her eyes swept across the individuals in the audience and she began her speech in that rich, refined voice she was famous for.

"The Emperor has made a critical error and the time for our attack has come."

A holographic display shimmered into life, depicting a structural image of the Death Star currently under construction above the Endorian moon. At that instance, it finally sunk into Han Solo how momentous this gathering of Rebel factions was. This was it. This would be their last stand.

Han recalled a similar briefing that he had attended four years ago in the Massassi Temple on Yavin IV. Back then he had stood at the rear of the room, distancing himself from the Rebel pilots, and rolling his eyes at the simple tactics General Dodonna had explained. How things had changed. Here he was, in the front row of the briefing theater, a princess by his side, his best friend on the other, no longer a self-serving mercenary but now a part of this Alliance taking on the Empire.

Leia unexpectedly clasped his hand, and Solo gave her a small half-grin. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing.

Although it was well known by everyone in the briefing theater and those throughout the fleet watching this on broadcast, the Supreme Commander provided the background as to why the Rebel Alliance was here. Her tone was confident and inspiring, only wavering when she spoke of the losses that had occurred in order to obtain the plans to the Death Star. She handed over to Admiral Ackbar, the Calamari captain of the _Home_ _One_ and Commander-in-Chief of the Rebel fleet.

The admiral provided an overview of the Death Star's countermeasures. The holographic display changed to depict an energy shield being generated from the forest moon, enveloping the Death Star as it circled in geosynchronous orbit.

Ackbar drew a shuddering breath. "The shield must be deactivated if any attack is to be attempted."

The holographic Death Star expanded on the display, dissipating the representational energy shield into a million virtual particles that fired across the theater.

Ackbar gestured towards the image. "Once the shield is down, our cruisers will create a perimeter, while the fighters fly into the superstructure and attempt to knock out the main reactor." He nodded towards Calrissian. "Commander Calrissian has volunteered to lead the fighter attack.

Calrissian smiled smugly as he became the center of attention and his gaze shifted sideways to catch Solo's reaction. The Corellian wished him luck, but Lando's confident, almost haughty, smile quickly failed when Han snidely added, "You're gonna need it."

Han flinched at Leia's sudden prod into his bruised hip, but he did not meet her eyes, aware that perhaps he had gone too far. He caressed the fingers of her hand he held, apologising for his comment.

Ackbar handed over to General Rieekan. The Alderaanian prefaced his presentation by indicating that General Crix Madine was responsible for devising the operations he was about to discuss. Han repressed a sneer as Madine puffed up with his own self-importance.

Rieekan continued. "We have stolen a small Imperial shuttle. Disguised as a cargo ship, and using a highly encrypted Imperial code, a strike team will land on the moon and deactivate the shield generator."

Madine unexpectedly encroached into Rieekan's presentation. "I assume, _General_ Solo, that _your_ strike team is assembled? Perhaps you would care to provide us with an update?" The words emphasised by Crix Madine suggested that he neither believed in the rank Solo held, nor the fact that Solo was worth of commanding a team.

Han's eyes hardened and he glared at Madine. _Bastard…_

Madine knew there was still no replacement flight crew.

_This is the way it's gonna be. _This was evidently the beginning of payback—the unspoken declaration of war.

As he was preoccupied with Madine, Han failed to notice that most of the assembly was gaping at him in open-mouthed disbelief, including the princess who sat by his side.

"My team's ready," General Solo stiffly responded. "I'm still finalising the command crew for the shuttle."

"Thank you for your concern, General Madine." Rieekan glared at Madine for the attempt at embarrassing his compatriot and for the interruption to his presentation. "Now if I can draw your attention back to _my_ brief, I would like to focus on arrangements for the jump between Sullust and Endor."

Chewbacca pushed at Han's shoulder. [You need a command crew? What about me? Or aren't I good enough for you now, _General_?]

Han indicated to the Wookiee to keep his voice down so as not to interrupt Rieekan. "It's gonna be rough, pal," he whispered. "I didn't feel I had the right to speak for you." _Not after that crap I said about your Life Debt._ "But I was gonna ask you. That's why I wanted you to come today."

Chewbacca softly growled, [I'm with you.]

Well that was one. Han nodded at his friend, realising he should have had more faith that the Wookiee would follow him anywhere.

He felt Leia touch his arm and he looked down at her. She was staring at him, a mix of confusion, wonder and love evident in her eyes. Han gave her an embarrassed, slightly nerfish grin. She placed her hand around his bicep and a small, proud smile lit her face. Rieekan's voice faded into background noise and Han fought the urge to take her face in his hands right there in the front row of the briefing theater and kiss her.

Leia leaned towards his ear. "General." Her voice was low, but she said the title with more reverence than he knew he deserved. "I'm coming with you. You're not getting away from me again that easily." She allowed her lips to graze gently against his ear before adding, "And I'm sure Luke will join us when he returns."

If he hadn't known differently, Han would have suspected he had over-dosed on spice again. A tingle of adrenaline rushed through his system. He took comfort in the simple knowledge that he was seated between the two people he for cared most—a Wookiee and a princess—and that they would be there again, by his side, when he needed them.

"I've always loved a man in uniform," Leia whispered into his ear.

Han's gaze remained on Rieekan, to at least give the appearance that he was paying attention to the Alderaanian general.

"I draw a line at the uniform," he muttered out the side of his mouth.

The princess leaned into him again and rephrased her admission. "I've always loved a man _out_ of uniform."

"Now that," Han told her, "I think I can accommodate."


	10. Chapter 10

_**Committed**_

_**by CorellianBlue**_

_(first published 2003, revised 2016, 2020)_

_Warnings: language; sexual content; mental health issues_

**X**

_Don't look at her and you'll do just fine._

General Han Solo kept his gaze focussed on the Imperial shuttle as he strode across the hangar, resolutely trying not to look at the _Millennium_ _Falcon_ as he passed by. The two ships were facing each other, almost compelling him to compare the vessels. With every step he took it became increasingly difficult for him to ignore the _Falcon_.

Han had hoped that by wearing fatigues and boots like the rest of his strike force, as opposed to his normal spacer attire, it would make things easier for him. It didn't. He was about to head off on the most significant event of his life and he wasn't taking the _Falcon_ with him. Having Calrissian trailing behind him, struggling to keep up, somehow only made matters worse.

Han's voice was filled with exasperation as he again tried to convince both Calrissian and himself that he was serious. "Look. I want you to take her. I mean it. Take her. You need all the help you can get. She's the fastest ship in the fleet."

Calrissian slowed, then halted, causing Solo to stop in his tracks.

"All right," Calrissian conceded. "I understand what she means to you." He watched the Corellian's attention shift towards the freighter. "I'll take good care of her. See she won't get a scratch. All right?"

Han's gaze returned to Calrissian as he realised the enormity of what he had just offered, wondered if his sudden selflessness was a delusional side effect of the drugs.

He nodded. "Right."

Now that his offer had been accepted, Han seemed at a loss at what do to next. Unable to stand only metres from his ship and know that it may be for the last time, Han turned and started up the shuttle's ramp. Halfway up, he had sudden second thoughts. He stopped, spun on his heel, only to be faced by Lando waiting expectantly at the bottom of the ramp, as if anticipating that Han would rescind the offer. The look on Calrissian's face hardened his resolve.

"I got your promise now," Han said gruffly. "Not a scratch."

"Get going," Lando told him, then added, "Good luck."

Though he had wanted to get a written and signed guarantee from Calrissian that he would return the _Falcon_ in the same condition that she was in now, the Corellian could only nod in reply. "You too."

Refusing to look at his ship again, Han headed back up the ramp and into the shuttle. The passenger compartment was a tight fit for ten heavily-armed soldiers. Han casually bantered with the women and men of his task force as he brushed past them.

In order to distance the team from its Rebel origins, standard procedures for special force operations had required all distinguishing rank and insignia to be removed from their camouflaged fatigues. Han decided he rather liked the idea of having no rank pips. It placed all members of this strike force on equal footing and hopefully would ensure they acted more like a team than a bunch of individuals.

Han entered the cockpit. "You got her warmed?"

Luke Skywalker's familiar, boyish tones filled the cockpit. "Yeah, she's coming up."

It was comforting to have Luke back. He had returned not along after the initial briefing session had concluded; he had been an eager volunteer for Han's command crew. Seeing Luke sitting there at the navigator's position, with Chewie in the co-pilot's chair and Leia at the comms station, it was just like old times.

_No, _Han amended to himself. _Not like old times._ Everything may have looked right, but it didn't feel right.

Luke had changed. There was an air about the young Jedi that Han couldn't comprehend. Maybe it was the seriousness that now shaped his features. Or the prosthetic hand he had thanks to his run-in with Vader on Bespin. Or perhaps it was the sombre, black clothes he wore. Whatever it was, Luke had aged far more than the Standard year since he and Han had parted company on Hoth.

Han thought twice about ruffling Luke's hair, and instead moved past him and into the pilot's seat.

Chewbacca bitched from the co-pilot's chair. [This seat is too fucking small for me!

Han glanced at his friend wryly. Chewbacca wasn't happy unless he had _something_ to complain about.

"Yeah, well, I don't think the Empire had Wookiees in mind when they designed her, Chewie."

[My ankles are up near my damn neck!]

"And I'm not interested in your sex life."

Han ducked but failed to miss the friendly slap against the back of his head. _Add one more to the count, _he grinned to himself, rubbing at the place on his skull the Wookiee had just hit. It was a wonder he didn't have a permanent concussion.

Pilot and co-pilot commenced the final sequence of checks, instinctively dividing the tasks between themselves without having to discuss it. Han automatically rapped a knuckle against a read-out that normally played up on the _Falcon_, cursing his own sentimentality when the display did not change. Then his gaze came up and caught on the distinctive profile of the _Millennium Falcon_.

His ship. His girl.

Leia's strong fingers slipped onto his shoulders. "Hey." Han's eyes met hers, but only for a moment before slipping back to his ship. "Are you awake?"

The smile he tried to conjure up failed to appear. "Yeah. I just got a funny feeling."

It wasn't funny— it was horrible. A feeling deep in his gut that threatened to overwhelm him.

When he spoke again, his voice was lost in his throat. "Like…like I'm not gonna see her again."

Beside him, Chewbacca soothingly called his name. [Han.]

Leia's hand gently turned his chin so that their gaze met again. Her eyes held his, imbuing her strength to him.

"Come on, General. Let's move."

Han blinked. "Right." He turned back to the job at hand. "Chewie?"

Chewbacca chimed in, [Standing by.]

Han took one final look at the _Falcon_. _I'll see you on the other side, baby._

"Let's see what this piece of junk can do. Ready everybody."

* * *

_**Thanks for reading and reviewing. Hope you enjoyed.**_

_**This story concludes in Tricks of the Mind (it might get a new title; working on it)...**_


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